Zenna Vortex: Five Queens and a Joker
by LA Knight
Summary: Rachel: delicious, corruptible. Sadie: young, out of control. Crystal: dangerous, sharp. Danni: waiting, ready. Rose: sensual, explosive. Batman: desperate to save them. Joker: desperate to see just how much damage 5 women can do.
1. 01 Ace of Hearts

**Chapter One**

**Ace of Hearts**

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Why hadn't Rose screamed?

It was inexplicable that she hadn't thought to actually scream. After all the things she'd been through during her childhood, Rose's first instinct should have been to scream, scream loud and long and as hard as she could. And the scream had been there. It had been there, waiting, just waiting, coiled like a diamond-back rattlesnake waiting to strike with its intoxicating poison. That scream, the scream of warning, that scream for help, for something or someone, anyone or anything to come to her rescue, it had been clawing its way up from the pit of her stomach to her throat, reaching for her mouth so it could escape between her clamped shut lips. She should have screamed – so much could have been averted if she'd just opened her mouth and let that scream out, let it free.

But she hadn't. Because something in his eyes had pierced her, growled like a rabid, mindless beast, snarled silently at her to keep quiet even as he shushed her aloud, gently caressing her cheek with the gleaming, razor thin tip of his knife. He's traced that blade along her thin, ice white scar, the one that started at the tip of her chin and rose straight up along the side of her face, like a pathway along her cheek, to disappear into the forest of her long, auburn hair, beneath the bangs covering part of the right side of her face. The ultra thin tip, the blade that was sharp enough to slice through bone or time or steel, had kissed her skin, leaving a stinging trail of blood droplets along her skin before he'd flicked out his tongue and licked up the ruby bubbles of blood.

"Delicious, doll," he whispered. The grip on her throat was almost tender, the thumb brushing against her fluttering, butterfly pulse. The look in his eyes was as blank as a doll's, emerald glass gaze.

A burgundy drop trailed down her face to stain the collar of her white tuxedo shirt. Her boss was going to be pissed that she'd gotten it dirty this way. Hell, he'd be pissed that the Joker was putting his hands on her at all, much less ruining her favorite outfit. But if she wasn't hurt, he'd focus on the expense of buying her a shirt that was no longer carried in stores. Focusing on that problem now was helping to keep her calm. Call her a bimbo, she didn't care. It worked.

The clown freak from Hell's worst nightmare, with his purple gloved hand cupped around her neck, leaned in and whispered softly in her ear, "Shhhh... don't speak. You'll spoil the surprise, beautiful. And we can't have that, can we? No, we can't let that happen, no. No. Don't say a word, pretty... lady."

She knew better than to speak. She knew men like him. Her father had been one. Her brother had been one. Her adopted father had been one. She'd been married to one for a year. She knew not to speak, because if she spoke, he would take it as a challenge. And with that knife point tracing through the top couple layers of her face, she knew exactly what screaming would get her. In her line of work, she couldn't afford to become anymore disfigured than she already was, or worse, blinded. And she most certainly didn't want to die.

"What are you doing here, anyway, pretty... lady?" He asked. She didn't respond, and the hand that had her by the throat tightened fractionally. She could feel the restrained power of his grip through the leather gloves. With enough pressure, he could crush her wind pipe, and she'd suffocate. He could snap her neck, as if her bones were made out of the most delicate porcelain.

From the way his piercing, absinthe eyes slashed from her face to her throat, she knew he'd felt the heavy thump of her suddenly pounding pulse. He knew she was frightened. A drop of cold sweat rolled down her left temple, tickling her cheek. He lunged forward. Only through years of self-inflicted training – torture, actually – did she manage to keep from flinching or, worse, shrieking. His tongue flicked out and caught that tiny bead of sweat, lapped it up. He pressed closer, the hard, unforgiving line of his body bruising her with its tension. He murmured in her ear, "Cold sweat. Fear sweat. I like that in a woman. Fear is so... amusing." His long, slimy, warm tongue traced the curve of her ear. Rose had to clench her teeth to keep from shuddering. "You're allowed to speak now, by the way. So answer my questions, pretty lady, or you can play kissy-face with my toys."

The tip of the knife was suddenly on the left side of her face, at the corner of her eye- the corner she'd drawn in eyeliner, a quarter of an inch away from her actual eye. Cat's eyes, her mother had called them. To give them an almond shape. To make the glittering green of her hazel eyes pop under the stage lights. The blade's crystal sharp point sank into her face. A line of blood caressed her cheek, dripped down her chin. It drew a crimson line down the ruffled front of her tux shirt, soaking through to her black undershirt. Damn it, her clothes. They were ruining her uniform- the uniform that helped her stay brave, the uniform that she hid behind to become a different person.

"Now, what's your name, beautiful?"

"Rose," she whispered. Her throat stung as she tried to swallow. He kept his cheek pressed against hers, his chilled skin as smooth as silk. His lips whispered against her ear as he spoke. The soft fabric of his suit jacket brushed against her bare forearm. She clenched her fists, hoping she wouldn't shudder. She didn't think he'd take too kindly to it. She didn't think he'd take too kindly to it at all. "And I'm not beautiful."

"Don't argue." His voice bit her like a rabid dog. After a moment, where she was sure he was waiting for her to flinch, he went on. "And that's not your real name, is it?" He breathed softly. "You're one of those débutante belles with five names and a rich father to give you everything you want, aren't you?" He met her eyes. Something behind her gaze shifted, and her emerald eyes darkened to midnight green, an absinthe-laced jade fire, dark flame. Her lush lips thinned and her entire body went still, all trembling ceasing. Her breathing slowed. She blinked, slowly.

"No," she hissed.

"No? Not daddy's girl?"

"You ever call me that again and I'll castrate you with my teeth and a cheese grater," she snarled, something hot singing through her veins. How dare anyone, especially this freak, make any comments or false observations?! She didn't feel his grip tightening around her neck. She didn't need air, didn't need to breathe. She didn't feel the constricting grip around her throat, cutting off her air, bruising the pale flesh. The Joker stared into those burning jade eyes, wondering what Daddy must have done to this little girl that she would risk dying, ignore his intent to strangle her, to threaten him. With something so deliciously violent, he added as an after thought. He didn't know the Mob had women who did things like that. And from the look on her face, he had no doubts that she'd actually do it.

He relaxed his grip on her neck, but he kept the knife at her face. Even if she didn't notice or care, he could still take out one pissed off little Mob princess. But those eyes... burning absinthe. Looking into eyes like those could intoxicate a man to murder. And hell, he was only one step away from murdering a person on his best day, anyway. But man, those eyes! If he did kill her, he'd carve out her eyes and put 'em in a jar.

"So, Miss Rose... what's your real name? Both of them."

Rose blinked, and all the fury spilled out of her as the adrenaline receded. In the vicious, burning wake of her dark rage, there was only ice cold fear. But how many times had she tasted the frigid dish called terror? You couldn't be scared all the time. Eventually, fear turned into something else – emptiness, white static, emotional snow, blankness behind the eyes.

She wasn't there quite yet. But she only needed a few more minutes. Then her walls would come up, and nothing could reach her. Nothing at all, except Diamond, Domino, and Danni.

"Rosaline," she replied slowly. She tried to focus, but the paths of her mind were full of mist and cobwebs. Her shields shivered on the fringes of her mind. The Joker's rictus grin stretched wide, and the blankness began creeping in behind her eyes. Her shields wavered, but her walls began rising up out of her subconscious. It was a slow shift- the Joker could see that. She still had room in her for fear.

"Rosaline what?"

"Rosaline Damundo." She struggled not to let her voice quiver. She also hoped he didn't know who the Damundo girls were, otherwise she'd be in serious trouble. Like, "breathing is no longer a requirement" trouble. Because the Damundo girls weren't just Mob girls. She swallowed again, trying to build her walls faster. But the heat of the man pressed against her, so at odds with the chill infecting her skin, made her almost disoriented. She was still breathing, now that he'd released his grip on her neck.

But the look on his face told her that he was still waiting for something, some more information, so she added, "Rosaline Psyche Damundo."

"What a lovely name," he breathed against her skin. The hair on her arms and neck stood on end. His breath was so warm, so at odds with his frigid touch. Hot and cold, fire and ice. "Beautiful rose of the soul. That's what your name means, doesn't it?" When she simply blinked at him, he grabbed a handful of rich, auburn hair and hauled on it as hard as he could, jerking on it violently, snarling, "Wake up, Rose!" She gasped as she let her walls sink back into her mind for just a minute. When she needed them, they'd come back. "That's what your name means, doesn't it? Beautiful rose of the soul?" She nodded mutely, feeling the throbbing where his hand was fisted in her hair. At least he hadn't cut her with his ice-shined knife blade. "Now, tell me, Miss Damundo. Why are you here, at the mob's meeting? Hmmm? Tell me, pretty lady. Are you a mob squeeze?"

Rose swallowed, her throat burning as it reminded her forcibly how dry it was. Staring into those jade eyes made her head spin, but she didn't dare look away as she replied, "I'm Mr. Gamble's attaché."

"Oh?"

"Yes – that's what he tells the cops, anyway."

"So, uh... what are you... really?"

She blinked, her lashes brushing against her cheek like black lace butterfly wings. The Joker could feel the silk of her eyelashes against his own cheek. He could smell the soft, clean scent of her powder makeup. He could taste her perfume, something with jasmine and fire. He could heart the fluttering, crimson silk hammer of her heart. She knew he could – she could sense it. So close, with her psychic shields being pounded upon by the brutal force of the Joker's personality and will, she couldn't help the link forging between them. And her walls were beginning to tremble, to sink further back than she wanted. Her eyes burned.

"I'm his assassin. And his whore. At least, that's my day job."

The Joker exploded into hysterical, wheezing laughter. He let go of her neck and pulled the knife away from Rose's face, giggling maniacally. For the first time in probably ten minutes, Rose could take a full breath. She wiped at the line of blood tickling her face with one black-gloved hand, not daring to look at anyone but the giggling freak in front of her. She tried to ignore the goons leering at her from across the hall. Their eyes were worse than the Joker's- not flat, but full of dark intent. Unlike the Joker, these men wouldn't just kill her. They'd do worse. She'd rather die than taste worst.

The clown was in a fit. Doubling over, he gasped for breath, still laughing like a loon. When he finally managed to get himself under control, he managed to wheeze out, "That's your _day job_?! Whore and assassin, a day job? Get outta town! What d'ya do at _night_?"

"I'm a singer and dancer. Vaudeville, cabaret. Show tunes. I've got my own show at the Queen of Swords." Rose fought to keep her stutter out of her voice. She didn't want to appear anymore frightened than she already did – not that her nearly stark raving terror wasn't obvious to someone like the Joker. But she didn't want to add the thought that had gone through her mind. She had her own show – with her two sisters, Sadie and Crystal, and their best friend, Danni. But she knew enough about psychotic killers to know that a) this guy _was_ one, and b) letting them know you had family you actually cared about was a bad idea.

"Rose," the Joker murmured. He suddenly sounded embarrassed. "Rose, I'm not going to kill you. Or maim you." She blinked, relaxing against the wall. Her entire body ached from the tension humming through her, electricity in her veins. He grinned that scarred, twisted grin, and her stomach flipped. Why did she think he wouldn't lie to her? Everyone else except her second boss lied to her about practically everything. "Don't worry," he added, and then dropped his voice to a snarling growl as his chest rumbled with the words, "I'm a man of my word. Does that make you happy?"

She blinked, and the Joker saw that glazed, sleepy look in her eyes again. Something he'd said had pushed her into that uncaring state. He could see the walls of steel and ice and frozen blood and bone building inch by inch behind her eyes. What a fascinating creature, this woman. He wasn't going to kill her, not yet.

"Rose, you have to promise me something. And if you lie to me, I'll make you smile. I'll give you a pretty smile just like mine, and that, I know, you would not like. But I'm going in there. I'm going to proposition your boss and his buddies and then I'm going to get out because even a neutered dog doesn't like being kicked where his balls used to be, wouldn't you agree, sweetheart? And you have to promise, like a good girl, not to scream or get in the way. Do we have a deal?"

"Only if you take me in there with you," she whispered. For the first time, she found herself able to glance away from the Joker's face as she scanned the men behind him. "Don't leave me out here with them, or I'm dead, no matter what you do."

The Joker glanced at his men, and grinned. What an enchanting, intelligent young lady. She knew rapists, murderers, and psychos on sight. What a brilliant little thing. And she was more afraid of them than she was of him.

He didn't like that.

"Okay, pretty lady. You can come into the meeting with me, but if you don't want to die, then I'm going to have to... do... this!" He lunged and grabbed her, yanking her against his chest, so that his cheek was tucked against the side of her neck. He inhaled that jasmine and ambrosia perfume, and licked a long, slow line along the column of her throat. She shivered against him, and he whispered in her ear, "Do I turn you on, cupcake?" The knife was back to pressing against the line of her cheek.

"No man turns me on," she hissed.

"You a lesbian?" He murmured, disappointment tinging his voice.

"No_**body**_ turns me on," Rose amended, and the Joker giggled as he marched her down the hall towards the meeting of the Mob bosses. What an enchanting girl, truly. She'd be a helluva lotta fun.

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Walking in three inch heels was hard on a normal day. Walking in three inch heels attached to character shoes, meaning the heels were tipped in smooth wood and shiny silver nails that slid on tile, was despicably difficult on a great day. But she had to admit that the hardest time she'd ever had walking was now, with the Joker's left arm wrapped around her narrow shoulders, his elbow cushioned on one breast, and his right hand holding that silver sheened knife to her already lacerated flesh. He kept his painted lips near her ear, so that his warm, moist breathing sounded in time to the pounding heartbeat in her head.

Rose swallowed hard, feeling the prick of the knife caressing the softness of her throat. One more ruby drop of blood staining her skin, a jewel to adorn the copper beaded choker around her neck. She blew out her breath, trying not to allow panic to set in. He'd said he wouldn't hurt her – but that didn't mean anything, not in Rose's world. Why should he tell her the truth? He was a psychotic killer, a madman dressed as a clown for Pete's sake. A deranged psychopath. She could see it in his eyes, in that blank absinthe gaze. She bit back the whimper trying to slither out of her mouth at the thought of what he might do to her after he finished with whatever business he had with her boss. But really, she thought, even if she died, it wasn't as if anything too all-new was going to happen. Except that there wouldn't be anyone to protect Sadie and Crystal. But no... no, that wasn't entirely true. Miss Dawes... Miss Dawes had promised to keep the girls safe if they came through for her. And Danni was there, too – Danielle Spinelli, who was impossible to scare and twice as impossible to kill, it hadn't remembered that earlier, when the Joker had grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall, whispering softly to her while his knife played with her face. If she had remembered, she might have stopped fighting for herself and done something to get him to kill her. Passive suicide.

"Wanna see a trick, Rose?" He murmured softly, his lips brushing against her left ear like gossamer. She tried not to swallow again as the cream-soft mouth whispered over the shell of her ear. "It's a maaaaaagic trick-_uh_. Wanna see?" His corrosive, wheezing laugh burned the inside of her mind.

She pulled her lips into the gap between her top and bottom teeth, squeezing them between her pearly whites. A nervous habit, one her less-favored boss out of the two she had had tried unsuccessfully to beat out of her. She wasn't sure whether the correct answer to the Joker's question was yes or no. If she said yes, he might kill her. That might be the glorious magic trick. And if she said no, he might get pissed off (if his killing her actually was not the trick) and kill her for being a bad audience. Either way, death. Not what she wanted. Not because she was at all eager to keep on slogging through life, but because she couldn't trust Rachel Dawes to do Rose's job for her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, until the light filtering through her eyelids filled her vision with a browned-out static of pink and green lights. One thing she did like about life – the light show behind her eyes. It soothed her. Helped her relax, keep calm. Make decisions.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, please, Mr. Joker."

"You're not begging me, are you, Rose?" He drawled, and yipped like a dog. His affected panting in her ear made her flesh try to crawl off her body. She bit her lip to keep from shuddering. "Like a little dog?"

"I don't beg anyone for anything."

She could feel the muscles of his face stretching into a macabre grin, and that wheezing laugh brushed against her cheek. The grip on her throat relaxed a little, and he feathered his leather clad thumb, cool to the touch, over her pulse. With the chilling shackle of his hand around her neck gone, the heat of his body through his suit and her working clothes practically scorched her. It was as if some insane wildfire was burning somewhere inside him, eating him up from the inside like some raging inferno. Burning away his sanity, searing away the thin veneer of civility most men tried to wear day after day. That devouring flame raged, she could feel it, hungering. Hungering for anarchy, bloodshed, chaos, destruction. She could feel that Dark Passenger, snarling and raving inside him. She could feel its teeth trying to rip through his body so it could be free of his mortal frame.

Darkness burned her eyes as she blinked against the heat spreading through her body. She needed to pull up her shields, break the empathic link her tension was trying to spin between herself and her assailant. She really needed to grab a hold of her Talent and beat it into submission so that it would crawl back into the farthest corner of her mind where it belonged.

_Ace_?

Rose fought every impulse in her body to keep from stiffening, gritting her teeth, clenching her jaw, anything that might give away the soft touch against her mind. Why was her sister calling her now? And why this way? Anger made her eyelid twitch, so she squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't let herself show emotion. If the Joker saw her acting strange, he might get suspicious, do something drastic. Or even if he just wondered what the hell was going on, that could turn into a very bad problem. Schooling her expression, allowing liquid cool poise and calmness to wash over her, she reached out, projecting specifically to one person a very specific warning: _Fear. Fury. Get out._ Rose felt Crystal's hackles rise almost immediately at the bitter, black anger surging through the mind link between them. Her sister could sense Rose's intentions to block her out, hurt her if she had to, but the younger girl got the idea behind that empathic projection and beat a hasty psychic retreat out of Rose's head.

Rosaline swore silently, still keeping herself still. Crystal had almost gotten her killed. She couldn't afford to let anyone know anything about Crystal, or Sadie, or herself. Telepathy, mental domination, empathy: no one could know that the three Damundo girls had these respective gifts. Gamble would have them whacked, and if the Joker found out because Rose couldn't keep her irritation under control, she'd kill herself. That was it, the end. She'd do everything in her power to protect her sisters and then she'd find a nice, big bridge to jump off of and kill herself.

A sharp, jerking pain in her scalp and a stinging bite against her throat brought her back to the current situation. The Joker giggled, knife-sharp sound waves cutting at her. He murmured, his voice a high-pitched, mad laugh, "Pay attention, Rose. You're not listening. You wanna see a trick, you gotta tell me a secret." His voice dropped, hellish and dark as it rubbed against her skin like velvet bondage. She swallowed hard as he growled, low in his throat, "A dirty little secret, Rose. Tell me a dirty little secret. Tell me about... Daddy." He licked her cheek, a long, wet line that left a saliva moistened streak in her foundation and blush. The Joker could taste the pollen sweet face powder.

"D-Daddy?" She whispered, and the movement of her throat pressed the knife's tip deeper. A fresh line of blood. She was going to have to wash all the blood away. Where it dried in harsh, black and maroon slashes, her skin itched.

"Tell me about Daddy, Rosaline," he snarled. His voice, like tenebrous madness, hypnotic lunacy, sulfuric laughter, poured over her, drowning her in memory. In pain. In hatred and self-loathing. Her heart began clawing like a rabid tigress at her ribs, at her chest, screaming to be released. Her blood chilled, turning her veins to exquisite ice. Her mind spun, tornado fury inside, and she could feel herself sinking into the past. "Tell me all about your Daddy," he growled. Her knees buckled. Her eyes burned, pricked by a thousand needles. She cannot breathe past the memory. "What did Daddy do to you, Rose?"

"Nothing," she breathed, as the walls began surging up out of her brain. Her battered psyche hastily retreated, allowing her psychometry to shove forward, snarling and hissing as the part of her that was not part of her sought out the perpetrator that had brought about this mental breakdown. Mental shards of imaginary glass cut at her mind. Tenebrous mist clouded her vision. She shuddered inwardly.

Joker blinked, surprised. Nothing? Liar. _And yet,_ he thought slowly, _not a liar_. She believed what she was saying. Those walls were back, that blankness in her eyes that said she'd disappeared behind her impregnable mental fortress. There was no getting her out now. She was safely secured inside her mind castle. How was he going to breach those walls of mental stone? He wanted her awake, conscious of everything. He wanted to see her eyes when he made his offer, when he showed the Mob bosses what he had up his sleeve and inside his jacket. He wanted to see those intoxicating absinthe eyes burn with the knowledge of what held her in its power: the Joker. But that couldn't happen if he didn't get her out of this trance.

He lowered his knife, looked over his shoulder to the men waiting for him. Three buffoons, three great and idiotic lummoxes that were still dangerous in their brutish, un-evolved way because of the evil that exuded from them. Stupid oxen, but oh so very dangerous to everyone, including themselves. She'd seen it – this Rose girl. How had she recognized the animal in them? Most people refused to see, much less know what they were looking at. Had she seen the human beast before? Fought it? Killed it? Or been conquered by it?

"What did Daddy do to you, Rosaline?" He murmured in her ear, and bit gently at her ear lobe. He nipped harder just beneath her ear, scraping the skin, leaving it reddened and tender, before he went back to nibbling on her ear. Apparently, just that little nip wasn't going to be enough to snap her out of this. So instead, he curled his tongue inside the thin, gold hoop hanging from the ear lobe. He tasted the sweet, tang taste of precious metal, savored it, rolling it around inside his mouth. Then, his tongue flexing, he ripped the hoop out of her ear. Spitting out the tiny metal ring, he latched onto the bleeding wound, tasting that delicious, ruby blood.

"Can I have my earring back when you're done?" She asked softly.

He blinked, swallowing the current mouthful of blood before releasing her ear from between his teeth. _Mustn't get too greedy,_ he reminded himself. But she didn't appear phased by the fact that she had one ripped and ragged ear oozing blood down her neck, staining the copper choker and drenching the shoulder of the black undershirt and leaving a blooming crimson flower on her tux shirt that quickly spread into a stain. She blinked her glassy eyes the color of old Coke bottles. Was she in shock? Hadn't she felt that at all? Was she crazy?

What was _with_ this woman?

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?" She said. Blank. Empty. Static. Nothingness. The Joker's fingers itched to wrap around her throat, bring some life into her – right before snuffing it out, permanently. So he'd promised her he wouldn't kill her. So he was a man of his word. He'd just scare her a little. Choke her back into consciousness, ha ha.

"The Joker... daddy's girl."

That absinthe fire flared up in an instant. The walls crumbled. Her entire body shuddered. And her fist connected with his jaw, knocking him back a few steps. His goons rushed forward – a little late, boys – and he waved them back. She'd done what he wanted, she'd woken up. Massaging his jaw, he looked up at her, incredulous. She'd actually punched him. He hadn't thought she'd react to that taunt. He'd thought she'd been past caring. Apparently not. And had she knocked one of his teeth loose? Feeling around with his tongue as he straightened up, he felt one of his molars give a little as he wiggled it. Well, what do you know? Lucky punch.

He didn't know whether to kiss her, kill her, or leave her for the sport of his hired muscle. Well, okay, maybe not the hired muscle. They didn't deserve a tidbit like this. She had some fight in her. He liked that.

"Don't ever call me that," she hissed. Her breath gushed past her lips like blood from an arterial wound. He could see her pulse throbbing in her throat, see the way her eyes blazed like verdant hell. When she punched him, he'd instinctively lashed out with his dominant hand, catching the underside of her upper arm with his knife. The cut was bleeding sluggishly, staining the billowy sleeve of her shirt. Was that a man's shirt she was wearing unbuttoned over those sleeveless undershirts?

"That was sexy." Laughing at the look on her face, he added, "Wanna do that again? Or should I give you a spanking?"

It was refreshing to see the revulsion on her face and know she wasn't repulsed by him, the Joker, but him, the male. She hated everything male, didn't she? "Are you still gonna cooperate-_tuh_ with my little... proposition?"

She bit her lip until blood came. She still hadn't said anything about the ripped ear or the cuts on her neck, which were no longer bleeding freely anymore. All she did was smooth back that disheveled, blood auburn hair. Gorgeous bedroom hair is what she had, after their little tussle.

"Yeah," she snapped. "So?"

"So c'mere, doll face. If you don't want your boss to blow your ass sky high, I suggest you get yourself snuggled back under my arm." He loved the look on her face as she slowly came forward, so slow that her long heels barely clacked on the tile floor. When she was within reaching distance, he grabbed her arm, right where he'd cut her, and squeezed. She didn't cry out, but he could in her burning eyes how very much she wanted to. He wondered idly just how much pain she could take as he hauled her against him, trapping her.

"There, now. Nice and cozy. Let's go talk to your boss." And he walked with her right into that room, leaving his morons behind just as that pompous prick Lau said, "... money is safe." The Joker's sick laugh knifed through her, and all heads turned towards Rose and the Joker.

"Rose!" Gamble leapt to his feet. "Who's this fu-"

"And I thought _my_ jokes were bad," the Joker said, looking at Rose as if she were his co-conspirator. Maybe, she thought softly, she was. Breaking through her reflection, Gamble snapped, "Gimme one reason why I shouldn't have my boy here rip your head off. The girl's expendable."

The Joker noticed the other men glancing uneasily at each other, and felt Rose relax in his grip. He wondered suddenly if she'd really stop him from killing her. Calling her "daddy's girl," most definitely. He still remembered the thrill of that adorable threat about the cheese grater and his _cajones. _But if he slit her throat, here, now... besides drenching his sleeve with her blood, would anything else happen? Would the bosses react? Would she fight him if she guessed his intent? It would be a blast to find out, but right now, he had business.

"Rose, sweetheart," he murmured in her ear, nibbling on the ripped lobe. "Grab us a couple chairs." He let her go, and grinned as she did exactly what he said. What a good girl. "She's a good kid, Gamble. You should be a little nicer to her or one of these days she'll, uh, castrate you with a cheese grater... hahahahaha!"

Curling one hand over Rose's knee, feeling the silky fabric of her tight, black leggings against his wrist, he made absolutely sure she kept totally still. If she said fidgeted, he'd get distracted. He hated distractions.

"So," he said jovially. "How about a magic trick?"

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**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 2:** Wrapping her hands around the steering wheel and knowing she was going to despise the traffic, Rachel pulled out of her parking space. It wasn't until she hit her first red light that she saw the Joker playing card laid out on her dashboard.

**Chapter 3:** Something dark, her own Dark Passenger, perhaps, reared its head and blinked awake as Gamble glowered at her and the Joker. Like she'd asked to be kidnapped by a crazed, makeup wearing nut job with a thing for killing people. Like he was going to teach her a lesson about fraternizing with the enemy. She could feel that darkness, that part of herself that swam in blood inside her, starting to rise.

**Chapter 4:** She glanced in the mirror, and for a second bit her tongue so hard it bled when she saw the face of the man who had saved her from that monster of the mob- her angel's chalk white, painted face, his bright red lips, his dark rimmed eyes, the smooth leather of his plum colored gloves.

**Chapter 5:** Her thorns were showing, she thought idly, as blood began to well up where she pressed the knife into the Joker's throat. She wanted so badly to see his blood gush... she wanted blood, fountains of it, oceans of it. If everyone in Gotham City died, it wouldn't be enough blood to sooth her desire for it.

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okay, for the most part, I work this way:

- relatively short (2000-5000 words) chaps- sometimes shorter. I have 1 fic, 83 chs, & no chap over 400 words.

- lots of descriptions

- lots of sexuality (con or non-con, doesn't matter)

- character insight (I at least try)

- one or two main events/chap

- lots of shorter chapters vs fewer, longer chapters (helps keep me focused)

- more frequent updates (I try)

- review rewards (I'm more likely to update the more reviews I get, since I have to get up 3:30 every morning to write)

- Chapter previews.

So. What do you guys think? Do you like the fic so far? I'm still trying to pin down the Heath Ledger Joker – how am I doing? And this chapter (not counting the author's note, title, and spacer periods) is 5530 words long.


	2. 02 Ace of Wilds

**Chapter Two**

**Ace of Wilds**

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"So, handsome, are we still on for tomorrow?" Rachel Dawes asked, voice gently chiding. She straightened the lapel of her black suit, smiling warmly at the District Attorney seated behind his nice, hardwood desk. Harvey Dent smiled back, leaning back in his office chair. But the DA couldn't help noticing that even as she smiled, Rachel's eyes kept darting towards the quartz crystal clock sitting on Harvey's desk, her slender, dark eyebrows sinking together between her eyes. She kept tucking her non-existent loose hair behind her right ear, her nervous gesture. She started to lick her lips, another nervous habit, but stopped when she tasted lipstick.

Something, Harvey thought, was on the Assistant DA's mind.

"Rachel?"

"What?" She asked, startled, blinking her beautiful blue eyes. Something in Harvey's chest melted, warmed by the return of her now hesitant smile. She reached up to tuck another imaginary strand of hair back, but stopped herself before her fingers made it past her chin. Instead, she fiddled with the other jacket lapel, chewing her lip for a minute before snatching herself back to the present. "Did I wander off?" She added. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, smiling, his face tender.

"We're still good for tomorrow night. I checked with the theatre this morning. But what's got you so preoccupied, Miss Dawes?" He teased, poking her gently in the ribs. She took a solid whack at his arm. Her hand stung where her palm met hard muscle. Grinning, she replied, "I'm waiting for a call."

"From who?"

"A friend," she replied casually, again brushing back at her hair.

Suddenly, she wanted to change the subject. If Harvey found out she had connections, even friends, in the Queen of Swords, he'd throw a fit, and right now her left temple was pounding, echoing like a percussion concert through her skull. She didn't have the time, the patience, or the willingness to deal with Harvey complaining about the people she associated with. Harvey Dent's prejudice against the young women who worked in clubs and hotels like the Queen of Swords was one of the few things she did _not_ like about the man. It wasn't as if they were anything scandalous. Show girls, who actually wore more clothes than most women claiming that professional title, the girls at the Queen of Swords had helped Rachel out a lot in her job. Not that anyone besides Harvey knew that, but still...

"Bruce Wayne?" He asked softly. She could practically taste the edge of challenge in his voice. The pounding in her temple began spreading behind her forehead, tiny trailing tendrils of pain reaching to span her entire brain. She didn't feel like dealing with a headache now, darn it. The pain always dulled her reactions, her senses.

"No, not Bruce," she replied, trying not to snap. She flipped open the flap of her purse, rummaging through the taser, papers, business cards, candy, breath mints, designer sunglasses (a gift from Bruce), and everything else the women of Gotham City would be considered smart to carry in their purses, and finally found her miniature bottle of Tylenol. Popping the red plastic off the top, she shook out two little white pills and knocked them back, dry swallowing the medicine. Replacing first the lid to the bottle and then the bottle to her purse, she finally gave Harvey her full attention.

She hadn't seen the look of irritation flash across his face when she'd said Bruce's name. He didn't like to say things like this to Rachel, didn't want to upset her or hurt her feelings, but he despised the way she said her "old friend's" name. There was such rich affection in her voice. She never said his name with that same unconditional, gentle tenderness. His name always passed her lips in irritated concern, exasperated affection, or annoyance.

"Who, then?" He demanded.

She opened her mouth to reply, and her phone beeped from the deep pocket of her black slacks. Reaching in, she grabbed the electronic device and flipped it open. The screen read NEW TEXT MESSAGE.Accessing said text message, she checked the sender: Ms. Papillon. The message itself only said, "Free 4:30." Rachel glanced at the clock on Harvey's desk, missing the way a muscle in his jaw twitched. The time was 4:05. She bit back a sigh, forced herself not to give into the urge to mess with her hair some more. She didn't want to leave Harvey right now, like this, in the middle of this argument, small thought it might be. But she knew the schedule of Butterfly- oh, excuse, Ms. Papillon- and the other girls at the Queen of Swords, and she knew it would be hard to get another free moment with them.

"Harvey, I've gotta go, I'm sorry."

"Who is it?" He snapped as she backed up towards the door. She didn't want to turn her back on him, didn't want to do anything that might hurt him even more, but she needed to go, now. The Queen of Swords was half an hour's drive from the District Attorney's office. She'd be lucky to make it anything close to on time.

"Yeah, well... fine. Go ahead, it's okay." This time, he was the one that touched her hair, smoothing his work-roughened hand over the dark silken strands. "Give Sadie my regards."

Blinking, Rachel wondered at this new display of peacemaking. Was Harvey trying to offer her an olive branch? She knew he didn't like Sadie Damundo, probably because she and her two sisters were under suspicion of having Mob connections. But Sadie was her particular friend, and Rachel knew exactly what the truth behind those Mob connections truly was.

"I... I will," she murmured, trying to mask her surprise. Darting forward, she planted a lingering kiss on Harvey's harsh, but still soft mouth. "Thank you, Harvey."

She left, before Harvey changed his mind and started hassling her again.

Sliding behind the wheel of her non-descript, beat up car, the one she used specifically to travel to the Queen of Swords and the other show clubs so it wouldn't get stolen, she turned the key in the ignition, listening to the engine rev. She let the chrome purring wash over her, soothing away the tension that had been building since she'd received Butterfly's text message. She hated the fact that her boyfriend despised her two closest female friends. But, she thought, brushing back her hair behind her ears, it wasn't anything she could help now. She needed to get to the club and see Butterfly and the others.

Wrapping her hands around the steering wheel and knowing she was going to despise the traffic, Rachel pulled out of her parking space. It wasn't until she hit her first red light that she saw the Joker playing card laid out on her dashboard.

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**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 3:** _Blood, so real she could almost taste its copper sweetness, flooded her mind. She could hear the melodic, rushing, gushing tide of that blood calling to her. Only the blazing heat of the Joker's hand, now sliding up and down her thigh, kept her anchored, kept her from floating away on that arterial tide._

**Chapter 4:** _She'd never felt her heart trip in her chest, never experienced that acrid taste of terror in the back of her mouth, so violently before. And all because of Paperdowski and his idiotic bank manager, and the man in makeup who'd decided to wreck everyone's plans._

**Chapter 5:** _"Are you a monster?" He whispered, and reached out one gloved hand to cup her face. What would she do? Would she flinch? Blink? Lunge for the knife? Her skin was icy, even through his glove. Her eyes were glacial emeralds, but they didn't freeze, they burned. He could feel them searing away his flesh, turning his blood to molten lead, his entrails to ashes._

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_okay, w__hat do you guys think? Do you like the fic so far? I'm trying to weave six different characters' lives together, how am I doing?_

_Butterfly (the word papillon is French for butterfly) is not a main character, she's the person that draws the "Four Queens" together._


	3. 03 Baby Monster

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**Chapter Three**

**Baby Monster**

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"Ta-daaah! It's magic! Gone!"

Rose had to admit, that had been an impressive trick. The Joker had impaled one of her worst tormentors through the eye with a Number 2 pencil. Not even the pointy end, either. The part of her deep inside, behind the psychic shields that pulsed crimson neon in her mind and the walls of burgundy stone around her psyche, that part of her that swam in the deep, dark, mental Jacuzzi full of rich, red, violent blood, had to admire the Joker's handiwork. But she ruthlessly shoved that part of herself, the thorny part, back into the darkest recesses of her mind, ignoring how it screamed at her to let it look and admire the madman at her side. The rest of her, the normal part (mostly normal), shivered at the ever looming possibility that she was almost definitely going to die.

"See, sweetheart?" The Joker threw her a wink that made her stomach attempt a rebellion and then he squeezed her knee through the silky fabric of her uniform leggings. She could feel the heat of his hand on her knee through the fabric, through the glove leather. She tried to suppress a shiver. The clown man added, "Told ya I'd give you a magic trick. Ya like?"

She opened her mouth to say yes- because she did, she really did, against her conscience's protests, her infuriated inner darkness loved the joke of it- when she caught sight of her less-favored boss and foster father's face. Gamble's expression told her she was in for another painful session of torture. And she didn't trust that Moroni and Paperdowski wouldn't do the same to her sisters if she spoke up.

_Sadie... Crystal..._

"Rose, sweetheart?" Joker repeated. There was a knife sharp bite to his voice, cutting at her. His fingers bit into her leg, bruising. She remembered the knife tip in her face, and glanced at the Joker, trying to tell him, trying to explain-

Her mind only calmed when he held up a finger to the assembled mob bosses and leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. She sucked her lips into the gap between her teeth. His mouth breathed hotly against her ear, "Rose." She squeezed her eyes shut when she saw the enraged look on Gamble's face. The Joker was touching his property, they were so screwed... "You afraid of the neautered dog, Rose?" He asked in a chilling whisper, smiling when he felt her take a tiny breath. The sweet, icy perfume of fear coming off of her in vapors tasted delicious on his tongue. Then, relaxing the bruising grip on her knee, he turned back to the men grouped around the table.

"And by the way, the suit- it wasn't cheap. You oughtta know, you bought it."

"That's it-" Gamble rose to his feet. Rose bit the inside of her cheek, still sucking the excess lush of her lips between her teeth. She pulled her hands, which had been laid out flat, palm down, on the table, underneath said table. Her cold palms were icy against the heat of her thighs. Something dark, her own Dark Passenger, perhaps, reared its head and blinked awake as Gamble glowered at her and the Joker. Like she'd asked to be kidnapped by a crazed, makeup wearing nut job with a thing for killing people. Like he was going to teach her a lesson about fraternizing with the enemy. She could feel that darkness, that part of herself that swam in blood inside her, starting to rise. Blood, so real she could almost taste its copper sweetness, flooded her mind. She could hear the melodic, rushing, gushing tide of that blood calling to her. Only the blazing heat of the Joker's hand, now sliding up and down her thigh, kept her anchored, kept her from floating away on that arterial tide.

"Sit. I want to hear his proposition," Paperdowski interrupted before Rose did something scary, like try to mind rape Gamble. It was, after all, no less than the son of a whore deserved. But she knew from past experience that her empathy was blocked by the dark skinned mob boss's natural psychic shields. Damn him, anyway. But Paperdowski knew Rose, knew what she could do. She knew that- and she knew he feared what might happen if she lost control.

"Let's wind the clocks back a year," the Joker began.

Rose forced herself to release her lips, forced herself not to grimace. Back a year? Back to before she'd started working at the Queen of Swords? Back before she'd started working nights for Gotham's richest playboy (who, despite his reputation, was kind, charming, and not interested in anything so innocent as flirting with one of the girls)? Before her favorite boss had insisted that all the Queens learn martial arts for self-defense, as well as New York City street fighting, which had gotten her a better deal as Gamble's assassin? Why would she want to think about that? The very thought of her life, and her sisters' lives, a year ago was enough to make her want to start screaming obscenities at Gamble, just so he'd pull out his pistol and pump her full of those shiny copper-jacketed bullets he favored.

"These cops and lawyers wouldn't dare cross any of you," the clown added.

_Not true_, Rose thought passionately. It was a marvel that she could even think straight at all right now, considering what all she was trying to focus on. Trying to focus on the Joker's scorching touch against her thigh (he couldn't possibly know that the scar tissue beneath her leggings, just beneath his stroking, petting hand, was hair-trigger sensitive); trying to focus on what the Joker was saying, so that he wouldn't get pissed off at her for not listening; trying to focus on her boss's face, which was staring intently as his college class ring- a bad sign; trying also to focus on Moroni and Paperdowski, to see their reactions, gauge their moods. But it _wasn't_ true. A year ago, one lawyer, at least, had dared to cross Falcone and his goons- Rachel Dawes, one of the two main patrons (and "anonymous" co-owner) of the Queen of Swords. Rachel was willing to slice and dice up the mob to get truth, justice, and the... well, not the American way. Maybe the Gotham City way. That sounded more like her.

But the vaudeville girl couldn't say that because she didn't want Gamble anymore pissed off at her than he already was. So she ducked her head, just for a moment, focusing on her black-sheened knees. Her eyes shifted to the violet leather gloved hand still gliding along her thigh. Her skin tingled where he touched. She had to fight not to shiver. She glanced at her tan character shoes, the straps crossing over her ankles so close to the color of her pantyhose. Then, sucking on her lips again, she looked back up.

"Uh, I mean... what happened?" The Joker demanded. Damn Rose for fidgeting. He was trying not to get distracted but she kept wiggling under his hand. Maybe it was Gamble. Gamble making his good little girl misbehave, making his adorably violent little hostage/helper squirm like a worm on a hook. He'd have to do something about Gamble. He wanted to poke and prod- maybe electrocute, stab, poison, carve, shoot, and/or filet- that dark thing he'd seen wiggling behind her eyes, but he couldn't do that if she was distracted by that idiot with the big mouth who'd dared to call his suit cheap. That idiot. Maybe, when it was time for everything to click into place involving this sad sack of humanity, he'd have found out what made Rose's thorns so sharp, what made her almost invisible, deadly spines cut at the skin, and he'd give Gamble over to her.

Maybe.

"Did your balls drop off? Hmmm?"

Rose thought she might choke. Something was suddenly trying to squirm its way out of her mouth, and it wasn't that scream she'd been trying to hold back. This was something else, something that tickled the back of her throat like canary feathers. Her heart was thumping, and when she tasted blood she realized she'd bit her cheek as hard as she could, and hadn't noticed. What was wrong with her? Her stomach cramped, her heart jerked sideways in her chest, and she swallowed convulsively. A strange noise fizzed out of her mouth.

The Joker smiled at her, almost a leer but not quite, and went on, "You, you see a guy like me-"

"A freak," Gamble managed to grind out from behind his clenched teeth. That weird feeling, that tickling-cramping-convulsion feeling oozed out of Rose like the molten wax in a lava lamp, slowly and deliberately. She went icy and stiff, her eyes burning like a Land of Oz night time sky as Gamble's words slapped her across the face. Freak? _Freak?!_ That mobster, that inhuman _monster,_ that sick lunatic a few feet down the table had the balls to call the Joker a freak? He dared? How dare he... he was the freak! He was the one that murdered and molested, beat and brutalized, raped and ravished, slaughtered and stole. So he didn't wear makeup? That made him _not_ a freak? Even though she'd seen him do obscene things to the corpses of murdered children... She almost choked on her rage. Only the thought of Sadie and Crystal kept her from making a sound.

Rose clutched the Joker's wrist, stopping the slow stroke from her knee to the middle of her thigh. He glanced at her, his gaze like a slashing knife, until he saw the glittering pieces of her jagged hatred reflected in her eyes. That absinthe stare was back, but she was looking at Gamble. Her pulse hammered in her palm, thumping wet and soft against his bare wrist where their skin touched. Somehow, the mob boss had managed to piss her off again.

How did the moron manage not to get butchered in his sleep?

Joker went on, before she did something sadistic and violent he'd enjoy but would interfere with his business, "... a guy... like... me. Look. Listen. I know why you choose to have your little, ahem, group therapy sessions in broad daylight."

That weird feeling was back, and this time, she realized what it was just as it made itself known. It was the tiniest, but undeniable urge to laugh. She managed to keep it to the level of school girl giggle. Everyone stopped and stared at her, including the Joker. She clapped a hand over her mouth, feeling the sting of her clammy palm against her lips. Was she imagining it, or was the expression on the Joker's face one of mild, fond amusement? He patted her knee under the table, gently, no bite to it, and went on, "I know why you're afraid to go out at night." He paused, taking in their expressions. The Italian looked bored, the Russian looked intrigued. And Gamble, well... soon, Gamble was going to die, so it didn't matter what Gamble's opinion was. And the look on Rose's face, of intense and studied blankness, made him grin, baring his yellowed teeth. She was trying not to laugh at his jokes. What a charming girl.

"The Batman," Joker growled, answering their unspoken question. It was hilarious how everyone in the room squirmed in his seat, like a schoolboy caught with a copy of Hustler magazine. Only Rose didn't react, except to loosen her grip on his wrist and place her elegant, finely boned hands back on her lap. Good girl. The icy feel of her hand on his skin was starting to irritate him just a little.

"See, Batman has shown Gotham your true colors, unfortunately."

Rose let her chin sink down to touch her chest. She could feel the sting of her open cuts being pulled at by the movement of her neck muscles. She didn't want to think about Batman. Batman, while a decent guy, she supposed, had done her no favors. Crime off the streets? Well now it was overflowing in the house she lived in. The only people who'd helped her were her sisters, Rachel, and Bruce Wayne, her boss at the Queen. Screw Batman. But she didn't want to show that on her face. She didn't want to show anything.

"Dent," the Joker added, "he's just the beginning. And, and as for the uh, the television's so-called plan?" Another giggle escaped her mouth. This time, before she could clap her hand back up, the Joker released her knee and grabbed her wrist hard enough to bruise, forcing her to stillness. What a good kid, she was laughing at his jokes. "Batman has no jurisdiction. He'll find him and make him _squeal._ I know the squealers when I see them... and..." Joker indicated the television, which was somehow shut off.

"What do you propose?" Paperdowski asked calmly. He was the only one who looked even remotely calm, except Rose. And Joker could feel that beautiful, burgundy pulse against his palm as he gripped her delicate wrist. He could snap her bones, he realized. It would be so easy... wait, the Russian had asked him a question. What was it again? Oh, yeah.

"It's simple. We, uh, _kill_ the Batman."

For some reason, those idiots started laughing. Really, what was so funny? He was pretty sure everyone would be _dying_ for him to know, if he had his way. The Italian, Moroni, asked disdainfully, "If it's so simple, why haven't you _done_ it already?"

Rose snorted.

"He probably wants to get paid," she muttered wryly, wondering where everyone's brains had gone. The heady alcoholic fizzing of perpetual terror was giving her a buzz.

"Exactly," the Joker replied. "If you're good at something, never do it for free. And you," he added, turning Rose's face with the hand not occupied with bruising her left wrist and tapping a gentle finger on the tip of her nose. He giggled when she blinked. With her, he was starting to realize, it was the equivalent of a regular woman flinching back and trying to crawl away, screaming in terror. He'd have to break her of that habit eventually.

He _loved_ a challenge.

"Shush-shush-shush," he commanded. "No talking when Daddy's talking." She blinked again. Her eyes started to turn glassy. He squeezed her chin, hard enough he thought the bone might crack. Her eyes cleared just a little. "Nod."

She nodded, and he tapped her nose again, laughing louder when she squeezed her eyes shut, her elegant, blood auburn brows drawing together in discomfort. She really didn't like him doing that, did she?

"How much do you want?" Paperdowski asked.

She had to hand it to him, he didn't sound too intrigued. Rose knew it was a carefully studied air of unconcern. She knew first hand from Sadie what the man did with his evenings, and one of those activities was to practice his expressions and affectations in the mirror before bed. She had to forcibly keep herself from shaking her head at the man, or making some movement that would draw outside attention back to the feeling rising behind her eyes. The Joker knew- he'd done it on purpose, with that brief mention of "Daddy." He was pulling her strings, like a marionette. He was her mad, mad puppeteer. She could allow him to keep it up, or she could stop him now, in his tracks, right here. She knew from experience that putting off a choice like that would make it harder and harder to finally reach a decision. But the Joker, he wasn't her problem right now. Her problem was her boss, and the other men seated around this table. She knew what would happen if Gamble or anyone else affilliated with the crime family found out what lurked just beneath the surface of her calm indifference, what waited behind her eyes to take over her mind. She'd already lost one sister to Falcone- _Ophelia, _she thought fleetingly, hatred suffusing her entire body, melting her bones and boiling her blood for a moment- because they'd discovered that at least one Damundo sister had serious mental issues. They had to keep it quiet that all four of the dancing sisters were, secretly, as volatile as nitroglicerine.

The Joker leaned forward, his arm brushing against hers. His hand slid from her wrist, back to her thigh. Years of training kept her from jumping. She lowered her head so that no one could see her chewing furiously on her lower lip. She had to make sure she didn't bleed on anything, she thought idly, trying to keep from trembling. Why did that psychotic clown keep touching her? Was he doing it on purpose? Well, duh. She knew men like him- they never did anything on accident. And while some of them might not have the kind of exquisite, surgical control she was sensing, Rose knew the Joker sure as hell did. Every move he made was staged just so.

"Uh..." Joker said. Rose began trembling. Not visibly, but the Joker could feel her tremors as she shivered and shook so slightly beneath his palm on her thigh. He didn't look at her. He needed to gauge everyone's reaction. "Half." He said, carefully, to keep some of the mob idiots from missing anything important. Again, they all began laughing. He finally realized why when one of them replied, chuckling, "You're crazy."

Rose sucked in a breath. Were they crazy? Were they just freaking out of their minds? Didn't they realize that the Joker was insane? You didn't provoke insane people! They killed you! Didn't they see it? Didn't they feel it? Didn't they _recognize_ it?! She did, she recognized that coiling, waiting, anxious madness that wanted to... to what? She tried to beat back the answer- she didn't want to think about the things she wanted to do. She didn't want to think about what her own adorable, psychotic Dark Passenger asked her for. She didn't want to think at all, but the bosses were going to get themselves _killed!_ Didn't they understand what they were dealing with?

She was panicking, she realized suddenly, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the idiotic, mindless laughter of the mob goons. She felt her shields, the pieces of them littering her mind. That's why her emotions were pinging, bouncing, jumping, leaping off of cliffs. She had to build her shields back up. She couldn't afford to be sucking in any emotional baggage off of anyone... especially the Joker. She was feeling the tickling craziness he was keeping a tight leash on, but it wasn't simply that. It wasn't just the Joker pulling at her empathy. Some of the men here were afraid. She couldn't afford to be afraid- she fought her fear every day and conquered it. But something was throwing her shields, pulling at her control! She couldn't afford this!

Joker glanced at her for a brief second when he felt her tense up. A ribbon of blood ran down her chin. The blood from her ripped ear still dripped down her neck. Didn't she feel that? Her eyelashes fluttered, but she was squeezing her eyes shut, as if trying to make a nightmare disappear. Her hands were clenched, and blood seeped from between her fingers.

"I'm not." He told the mob. Crazy? They hadn't the slightest idea. It was almost funny how easily he was leading them to their own downfall. You'd think they'd be more suspicious. But despite his assurances that he wasn't a nutcase, the goons were _still_ laughing. He repeated, "No... I'm... not-tuh." He felt Rose jerk, as if something inside her had snapped. Or clicked into place. She straightened up- why did she have to keep _fidgeting?!_ She laid her hands out on the table, palms down. No one seemed to notice the blood smearing her fingers. Where were the gloves she'd been wearing? He realized they'd miraculously disappeared during the tussle outside. Interesting to see how she'd managed that. But back to business. "If we don't deal with this now..." Were these morons even listening? Did they speak English? "Soon... little Gamble, here, won't be able to get a nickle for his grandma."

The black man in question banged on the table loud enough and hard enough to make the table itself jump. Oddly enough, Rose didn't react, even though all the mob men did. She didn't even blink. What was wrong with her? Joker saw the bloody handprints, smeared from where the table had shifted, underneath and around her splayed hands.

"Enough from the clown!"

Before the goons could take a single menacing step in his direction, the Joker was on his feet, holding his jacket open to reveal the grenades lining his designer suit coat. The string to pull all their tabs was attached to a ring around his index finger.

"Ah! Ta-ta-ta..."

Rose turned her head so slowly, the Joker thought she might have been tripping on something.

"Let's... not... _blow_ this out of proportion."

"You think you can just steal from us and walk away?" Gamble demanded.

"Yeah."

"Obviously," Rose muttered, staring at the blood trying to seep out from beneath her hands. The Joker had to wonder just what had pushed the woman so far off the deep end, but before the thought could even begin to follow another, Gamble roared, "Rose, come here!" And the look on the woman's face made the Joker grin. If she came over to Gamble now, he'd be dead before the Joker could finish laughing at the mob boss's stupidity. Didn't he recognize a psychopath when he saw one?

Rose slowly rose to her feet.

_Oh, no,_ Joker thought. _No, no, no, no. She's mine, Gamble. She's all mine. I didn't realize I had a budding monster on my hands. What a beautiful present to just fall into my lap. Mine, Gamble. Hands off._

"Rose," Joker said. Like a zombie, she turned to look at him. He smiled. "Come to Daddy, Rose." Like magic, that emerald hell fire was back in her eyes. Damn, that was hot. He wondered if he could get her to turn that on someone, anyone. Who? Who would she kill? Who would she butcher like cattle? What would Rose become, if he took her with him?

"Rose!" Gamble snarled. "Get your ass over here!"

_Mine,_ Joker snarled. _My baby psychopath. My monster!_

"Shut up, Gamble," Paperdowski snarled. "You want him to kill us?"

The black man fell silent, but the hate in his eyes would've made Rose's blood run cold, if she were still capable of coherent thought. Instead, she kept her blank, doll eyes full of insane fire towards the Joker, who whispered, "Come here." They were both surprised when she came to stand beside him, her blank face surveying the men assembled in front of her. A furious Gamble ground out between his teeth, "I'm puttin' the word out- 500 grand for this clown, dead. A million alive, so I can teach him some manners first."

"Alright," Joker replied, ignoring the pissed off black man. He focused his attention on Muroni and Paperdowski. "So, listen. Why don't you give me a call when you want to start taking things a little more seriously. Here's. My. Card."

He laid the Joker card on the table, and then he and Rose got the hell out of there.

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**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 4:** _She suddenly, fleetingly, wondered if he'd be there tonight. Him. The clown. Would he be hiding in the audience, watching her dance? But no, that was a stupid question, she thought, tugging on her medium Men's white tuxedo shirt. Why would he? He didn't know her. He didn't even know she'd been in the bank, or he probably would've killed her._

**Chapter 5:** _They were playing it so casual, weren't they? Like she wasn't some psychotic killer in waiting, like he wasn't some madman in clown paint. Like he wasn't armed and hadn't just threatened to blow the mob sky high. Like she wasn't reaching for a weapon to turn him into hamburger. What a calm, cool, collected little monster he had riding in his car._

**Chapter 6:** _She throttled the urge to scream, beat it bloody, pounded it mercilessly back into the recesses of her mind where it belonged. She was the one in control. She was not going to scream._

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_so, what do you think?_

_Disclaimer: the idea of the Dark Passenger, I got from the Dextor Morgan series- Darkly Dreaming Dexter, Dearly Devoted Dexter, and Dexter in the Dark. _

_The idea that all my MCs have their own version of the Dark Passenger was solely my idea. _

_The imagery behind the DP (the pool of blood, and the absinthe eyes, and all that) I came up with on my own because I'm a genius. Okay, I'm not, but I did come up with it on my own._

_I'm doing my best to integrate this story with the movie- I love movie-tie-in fics. I absolutely love, love, love them. If any of you are fans of the movie Pitch Black, you should check out my movie-tie-in, Violet Eyed Angel._

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	4. 04 Ace of Spades

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**Chapter Four**

**Ace of Spades  
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**.**

Ignoring the idea that it would be fun to blow up the vaudeville club, The Queen of Swords, where she worked- the idea of which jumped up and down in her mind like a hyper elementary school child eager to show it knew the right answer- twenty-year-old Sadie Damundo did something she almost never had the time or inclination to do- she smiled. But she only smiled because of the person who'd been smiling at her first: the face made up to pale perfection, the eyes lit up with dark makeup, the lips a bright, vibrant, living red. The teeth gleamed in the light of her dressing room, glinting like pearls. Real pearls, the yellow kind, not the harsh, unreal ivory. The dark clothes, the shoes with heels that shone polished blacker than night in the fluorescent lights. That great smile, showing off those gorgeous teeth, framed by that cherry red mouth with the lush, beautiful lips, and that gorgeous figure with the dark hair...

Yes, Sadie could definitely find it in herself to smile back at the poster figure of Liza Minelli tacked up on one wall of her room. The red letters on that poster spelled one of Sadie's favorite words- _Cabaret. _It was easy to ignore the Whisperers tugging at her when she focused on the image of one of her greatest heroes instead of her own skinny reflection in the mirror. Looking at her reflection made her want to shoot the mirror in her dressing room with the 9mm Baretta her boss had kindly given her- after she'd completed his required self-defence and shooting classes- just so she didn't have to see her reflection. But that was probably overkill, so instead she focused on the posters, her eyes raking them like knives as she struggled to find something else to look at, something to distract her for a minute, a second, from the thought of destruction.

Sadie's dressing room was splashed with posters from Broadway. She loved looking at _Beauty and the Beast, Rent, Wicked, Grease, Legally Blonde, The Wiz, Tarzan, the Producers, Chicago, Avenue Q, Guys and Dolls, Hair, _and even _Kiss Me, Kate._ She had all those glossy pictures pinned to her walls, so that she could stare at the gorgeous actresses smiling their gleaming Broadway smiles, dancing in their gleaming high heeled shoes and spectacular, high fashion clothes. She ignored the men in the posters, in their fake, pressed tuxedos and shoes polished to such a garish shine they made her eyes hurt. She only wanted to look at the others, those women who'd taught her how to be what she was now, successful and beautiful- Sally Bowles, Roxie Hart, Elphaba Thropp, Maureen Johnson, Elle Woods.

She'd learned to sing, to dance, to act, to _perform, _from observing these women. It had made her and her sisters successful. It had helped her deal with the insidious suggestions of the Whisperers. Music was the only way to drown them out, music and dancing. When she was slicked with sweat, chilled by it so that she shivered, and her body trembled with exhaustion, she couldn't really do much else but rest, and then the performances started all over again. No time to give into temptation, no means to become... what Crystal wanted to be.

Sitting in front of the vanity now, Sadie turned away from her glossy walls and tried to focus on the fact that she was successful, desirable, beautiful, talented. It was difficult thinking these things- her mind balked at every idea of herself as beautiful. The whispers agreed- it was an impossible idea. Trying to force herself to accept the thought usually just pushed thin, fantasy pins into her brain, giving her wicked migraines. And the Whisperers enjoyed the tiny founts of mental blood and pain that came with the barbarous act of lying to herself.

Instead, she switched topics, frantically running through the show's lineup tonight. She needed that diamond ring from her boss, and the playing cards, and she _still_ needed that blue scarf/sash thing for _Aldonza..._

But thinking about the upcoming night didn't help her, either. She couldn't focus on work. She couldn't focus on the fact that her boss had called her, telling her he needed to discuss something very important with her- couldn't even find the energy or interest to wonder what it was he wanted to talk to her about. She couldn't focus on her sisters, wherever the heck they might be. She didn't even really focus on the ideas of shooting the mirror and blowing up the venue after acknowledging them for what they were- wishful thinking. Instead, her mind kept pulling her back towards the events from only a day before. She'd never felt her heart trip in her chest, never experienced that acrid taste of terror in the back of her mouth, so violently before. And all because of Paperdowski and his idiotic bank manager, and the man in makeup who'd decided to wreck everyone's plans.

She'd been trapped under the bank manager's desk for almost two hours. He wouldn't let her out, wouldn't let her get water, or give her anything to eat, or let her take a bathroom break. All because Paperdowski had told the man- she didn't even remember the scum bag's name- that he could do whatever he wanted with her. And the Whisperers hadn't been whispering anymore, they'd been screaming, shrieking, clamoring, roaring...

Sadie didn't realize her thoughts had brought with them a pulse of near homicidal rage until one of her lip gloss tubes cracked in her clenched fist. Realizing she was damaging the tools of her trade, she swallowed everything down and set the oozing plastic tube of Holly Berry gloss back onto her cherrywood vanity table, on top of a Kleenex to keep from staining the table top.

She glanced in the mirror, and for a second bit her tongue so hard it bled when she saw the face of the man who had saved her from that monster of the mob- her angel's chalk white, painted face, his bright red lips, his dark rimmed eyes, the smooth leather of his plum colored gloves. He'd saved her from that vicious mobster who'd locked her beneath his desk like an animal, and killed her tormentor. Sadie wasn't sure if he knew that, but by killing the mob's bank manager, he'd saved her the agony of yet another day as Paperdowski's plaything. Saved her from the vicious rage, black as abyssal hell, building inside her that probably would've gotten her killed if she'd given into the demands of her personal demons.

But then she blinked, and his image in the mirror was gone. It was just her face, a little too thin, a little too pinched, a little to pale underneath her makeup. Eyes burning hate like a rabid wolf. That was fine. She could work with it, make it glamorous, soften the brutal edges.

_Forget about the clown, Sadie,_ she scolded herself.

Her eyes were fine, huge amber orbs in her face, rimmed heavily with wet, black liner in the cat's eye style. The Slippery When Wet makeup company's Midnight Witch colored liner made her eyes look huge in her face, just what she wanted. And brushing electric violet powder from the very edge of her eyelids up all the way to just beneath her brows, fading it out, blending it, gave her eyes a pop and pizazz she loved. The glories of makeup- it made her feel brave. It made her feel strong. It made her feel beautiful. But the silky violet powder brushed against her eyelids made her remember the gloves. Only the gloves had that one touch of color. His tie, his suit jacket, his pants, his shirt- all without any hope of standing out against a crowd. But the gloves... the gloves with had encased those brilliant hands, those talented, generous hands: the hands of a saint...

Sadie blushed. When had she become so poetic? She sounded like a lovesick girl.

But, well... she'd been praying for a miracle, and then he'd popped up. He'd just blown her personal nightmare away with the _rat-ta-tat-tat_ of machine gun fire. Could a girl expect much more from a saint?

_Will you hurry up, Domino? The show's gonna start soon. You wanna be last on stage?_

Crystal's voice sounded like a wasp made of broken glass in her head, buzzing and pissed off, stinging everyone and everything in an attempt to let out some of that anger she kept walled up behind a crystal cage. Ignoring her sister's time reminder, and the use of her stage name, Sadie took her lip pencil, dark wine red, and colored her lips with it. Most people didn't realize this, but using lip liner the way you'd use lipstick made the color last a lot longer, and it didn't smear as badly. It also held up better under stage lights.

Staring at the pencil in her hand, she had two very disconcerting thoughts: The first thought was of the contrast between the color of the pencil and the color of Paperdowski's blood if she ever got up the courage to stab him in his black heart with it for all the things he'd done to her, and then the image of his blood smeared across her skin was more than she could ignore for a long, excruciating moment. What would it be like to kill the Russian scum who'd turned her into this... secretly homicidal doll? And the second was to compare the color of this lip makeup with the vibrant crimson, curling wound of a mouth on her protector's face. She hastily dropped the pencil to the vanity table when she saw her hand shaking. She had a splash of wine dark color on one perfectly manicured, French tipped nail. She hastily licked it away.

Sadie took a deep breath, feeling the blood in her body jumping for joy at the extra oxygen. She needed to focus. She needed to finish her make up, and then get the rest of her clothes on. She had a feeling that her boss wouldn't exactly approve of her hopping out onto the stage dressed in nothing but underclothes, pantyhose, black spandex shorts, and two extremely tight undershirts- one black, one white- that showed off her figure and almost all of her otherwise bare arms. She was supposed to have four more pieces of clothing on, at least.

Finishing her makeup by going over her lips with Moulin Rouge gloss- her favorite color- and brushing crimson powder softly across her cheekbones, and spritzing herself with spray on glitter, she then turned to the task of getting dressed. She didn't glance at the clock- if she did, she'd get flustered, and everything would grind to an agonizing halt. It was like looking at a clock was the same as staring at the counter on a bomb- it froze her in her tracks. She didn't have time for that. If she couldn't do this, this simple act of getting ready for a show, then how was she supposed to be confident enough to do the show itself? And if she couldn't do the show, what was she good for, except as a faceless, hot body in an unmarried mob boss's bed?

She didn't want to think about that. Bruce had told her not to think like that countless times before, not to think of herself as a piece of ass. How many times had he said, "_You've got talent, Sadie. You're good. Don't you forget it." _How many times had she heard him, and Miss Rachel, say that?

_Hey, Sadie, you seen Ace?_

Again, Sadie ignored Crystal's attempts to get her to speak. It wasn't as if she could. She had very limited power compared to her sisters. And she didn't speak, either. Not even to them. Not if she didn't have to. She didn't speak to anyone.

And no, she hadn't seen her oldest sister, Rose. She had no idea where the flaming red head was.

Ignoring the niggling feeling in the back of her mind, that voice inside that said that wasn't right, that Rose should've been at the Queen of Swords by now, she instead slipped on her first pair of leggings, the single spandex pair without lace. Without the shorts and this first, other pair of black leggings, she'd end up flashing the audience her undies, an act that was definitely not on her priority list. Add to that first pair the second pair, ending in lace about four inches above her ankles, mid-shin. She tugged down on her shirt so that the hem stopped just beneath her butt cheeks. Another precaution against flashing her panties.

She suddenly, fleetingly, wondered if he'd be there tonight. Him. The clown. Would he be hiding in the audience, watching her dance? But no, that was a stupid question, she thought, tugging on her medium Men's white tuxedo shirt. Why would he? He didn't know her. He didn't even know she'd been in the bank, or he probably would've killed her. She ignored the way her heart sped up in her chest- not in reaction to the idea of him killing her, but the question of his presence tonight.

_Don't be stupid,_ she told herself.

The Whisperers disagreed, whispering words like _might, perhaps, possibly._ She ignored them.

Once she had buttoned the three essential buttons to keep her tux shirt from flapping open, she looked at her reflection, and smiled again, though it slipped away as fast as a flickering candle flame again. She _loved_ how she looked when she was almost ready for work. She just needed to trim her hair, put on her gloves and shoes, and she'd be set.

"Miss Sadie?"

The knock on her door made her jump a mile high. She quickly shuffled over to her dressing room door in her stocking feet, peeked through the peephole her boss had had installed specifically for her, and saw Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, and Rachel Dawes standing outside. Biting the inside of her cheek to keep her smile inside, where it belonged, she opened the door and immediately was swept up into a hug by Miss Rachel. For a moment, the voices inside Sadie went still.

Rachel wasn't positive, but she was pretty sure the young woman was happy to see her. She looked as if she'd just finished putting enough clothes on to be decent.

"Hello, Miss Sadie," Alfred murmured, and handed Sadie a plush, brown velvet box that looked like it held a necklace. "Master Wayne found the matching necklaces you and the other girls wanted." Flipping the lid on the box up, Sadie grinned and pulled out a copper beaded choker. Her eyes were brighter than Rachel had seen them in a while. Even someone like Sadie loved pretty things.

"Rose and the others get their own, too," Bruce replied. "But these aren't for tonight."

Sadie blinked and switched her focus from Alfred's smiling face to Bruce's. Her favorite boss had a charming smile, but she didn't care. It was the way he smiled, like he was everyone's best friend or your favorite older brother, that made her feel calm around him. He was the only man she trusted- besides Alfred, who'd been the one to rescue her when she was a little girl. But most people didn't know that. Thinking about her boss's comment for a minute, she cocked her head and blinked up at him.

"I have a job for you four," Bruce went on. "I'm throwing a fundraiser for District Attorney Harvey Dent, and we need entertainment." The billionaire playboy noticed her slender, sable eyebrows draw together as she refrained visibly from biting her lip. He knew she didn't want to deal with lipstick on her teeth. He also knew why she looked like a child desperate to start fidgeting but knowing they couldn't. She hated public gatherings, hated parties with rich people, and despised social soirees where mob-affiliated people might show up en masse. He could understand that. He didn't blame her. That's why there were rules, as he reminded her. "You know how I operate- no one touches my girls, no speaks to my girls uninvited, and you each get your own personal bodyguard. That's how I work. I don't risk my employees."

Sadie almost smiled. He could see the corner of her mouth twitch. But she didn't. It made both Rachel and Bruce realize she still had a long way to go. But Sadie didn't care. She only cared about what a great gig she'd managed to land, working for Bruce Wayne.

"So, are you willing?" Bruce asked gently. Sadie tugged a lock of hair, giving her employer a sly look. Arching her eyebrows, she let her lips quirk into that languid, sly smirk that sent her message perfectly. Bruce sighed. Rachel looked back and forth between them.

"What?" She demanded.

"She's saying," Alfred replied, "that Master Wayne needs to ask Miss Crystal before Sadie will agree to anything. No one wants her losing her temper in a public place."

"Why do you let her work for you if you can't trust her not to behave like a normal human being?" Rachel asked, frowning.

"Crystal's fine, Rachel," Bruce assured her. Sadie went back to her vanity. "She's perfectly fine. But if Crystal says it's a deal," he added, turning back to his employee, "will you do it?"

_He might be there,_ the Whisperers breathed icily across her mind. _The man who saved you..._

_No_, she thought acidly. _No, no, no. I don't care. It doesn't matter one bit, I don't care, I won't think about it at all._

The Whisperers began screaming.

Her hand clamped down convulsively around a cake of Purple Midnight eyeshadow. Flipping it open, hands shaking, she went back and applied the soft powder just to her eyelids. Makeup, focus on the makeup, and everything would be fine. Darken the eyes, make them stand out. Violet was a good color for her face, she thought wildly. With her jet black hair, her amber brown eyes, and her ivory complexion, violet _popped._ Suppressing the shuddering sigh trying to escape, she went back to the layout of her makeup articles and grabbed the tube of Non-Stick Icicle.

"Sadie?"

She glanced up into the mirror to see her boss, his butler, and Miss Rachel watching her. She shrugged and held up the tube of glitter gloss. She needed sparkle, didn't they get it?

"Sadie, you're doing it again."

Doing _what_?! Her eyes narrowed, and her grip on the gloss tube tightened. She wasn't _doing_ anything! She was simply trying to get ready for work, didn't anyone care enough to give her a freaking break?! Bruce went on, "Sadie, you're doing the make up thing, and your eyes are too bright. You're spooked."

She shook her head violently. She justed wanted to get ready for work so she could perform and relax. Couldn't she give him her answer later?

"Sadie, you don't have to tell me your answer now. I'll go talk to-"

"Get out." An icy, glass sharp voice etched the air with pure, cold rage. Sadie glanced back up from the vanity to see her sister Crystal standing behind their boss and the others. The wintry voice breathed death into the heart of the Whisperers, silencing them beneath a blanket of ice.

"Crystal-" Bruce began, hands up in defense.

**"_OUT!_"**

And Sadie and Crystal were alone. The tall, leggy blonde sat down on the vanity stool and held up her younger sister's tan character shoes. Sadie grabbed them and slipped them on her slender feet. Tightening the straps, she wiggled her feet, sighing, before looking up at her sister.

"I heard everything," Crystal replied, and began rifling through Sadie's makeup. "I think we should go for it. Screw what our other bosses might think."

Sadie blinked, feeling her heartbeat slow down a little as Crystal's ice cooled her own blistering panic. That was the difference between Rose, Crystal, and Sadie. Rose was cautious, but brave, so very brave. Sadie could admit to herself that she was coward.

But Crystal... Crystal was out of her freaking mind. Crystal was owned by Moroni for a very good reason- he was the only one big enough and powerful enough to keep the violet-eyed blond from killing him in his sleep. The blonde woman could- and would, if given the chance- coldly and calmly put a bullet in the brain of every member of the mob in Gotham City. She was like ice: cool, crystaline, clear, chilling. The only reason Bruce Wayne wasn't dead was because Crystal thought he was the greatest thing with a pair of _cojones_ in the world, excluding her Rottwieler, also named Bruce.

"You're not scared, are you, Sadie?" The purple-eyed woman asked mockingly as she grabbed the electric blue mascara and began brushing it over her eyelashes. Her movements were jerky, barely controlled, barely human. Her entire body trembled, minute vibrations only someone who knew her would know to look for.

Sadie ignored her as she picked up the scissors and began hacking at her shoulder length black hair. Once it touched her shoulders, the rule was to turn it back into a curtain of ragged black silk threads. Grabbing fistfuls, she cut and cut, listening to the _snip-snip-snip_ as the Whisperers began mumbling again. _Snip-snip-snip_ as wisps of shadow hair began falling past her shoulders. _Snip-snip-snip_ as her hands shook and her breath shuddered inside her.

"Seriously, though, you seen Rose?"

When her hair was just the way she wanted it, she shook it out, letting all the excess, cut strands fall away. Then she looked at Crystal and shook her head. Rolling up the sleeves of her tuxedo shirt, Sadie put the necklace box Alfred had given her in a drawer. She slipped on her white gloves, and held out one hand to her sister, who rose to her feet on her own, ready to go.

"I hope she's okay." And that was one of the rare times when the cutting icicle edge of Crystal's voice thawed into something softer. "Let's go," she added, and that crystaline edge was back, cutting the air as both women stepped out of the dressing room and strode down the hall.

Sadie had to wonder... _was_ Rose okay?

.

.

**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 5:** _Her fingers were slipping further and further toward that bulge against his leg that was his hidden knife. He really wanted to see what hot things she was going to do with that knife. He had it planned, suddenly, just what he'd do when she did click the button to unsheathe that stinging, silvery blade._

**Chapter 6:** _Crystal straightened her hair, her tux shirt, and took a deep, calming breath. Now was the time to be calm, cool, collected. Now was the time to relax, to give her sister a chance to explain herself. Now was the time to make sure everything was all right and then go back outside and head for the stage, ready for the night's show. Tranquility, serenity, peacefulness- that's what the situation called for._

_"I'm going to kill you!" The blonde shrieked, slamming the door shut after her. Glass shattered as something in a frame fell of the wall._

**Chapter 7:** Feel it, recognize it,_ they told her. She shivered, suddenly ice cold even under the blazing stage lights. Something beckoned her, called to her, a siren call, the demon song of the Pied Piper, something below the register. It danced over her skin..._

.

.

_so, what do you think?_


	5. 05 Riding In Cars With Boys

.

**Chapter Five**

**Riding In Cars With Boys  
**

.

.

Rose stared out the window, her entire body singing with tension. The passing cityscape did nothing for her- she didn't see it. Her eyes were glazed, almost bored, sleepy. Pale, pale jade gaze focusing on nothing, taking in nothing. The Mercedes's air conditioner blasted through the car, gelling her fear sweat to her body. Goosebumps peaked upward on the bare skin of her forearms. She didn't seem to notice. The blood was caked on the side of her neck and her ripped ear, but she didn't seem to care about that, either.

The man behind the wheel, one of the Joker's goons, stared at her in the rearview mirror until he caught sight of the Joker's face from the backseat, that lunatic grin and the dark promise in those eyes that said he'd filet the driver like a fish if he didn't start watching the road.

"Wake up, pretty lady," the Joker murmured, giggling. He poked her in the ribs. "Wasn't that _fun_?"

She didn't look at him. She didn't so much as twitch. Surely she must be feeling the pain from her injuries. Her neck where he'd grabbed her was beginning to color blue and violet. Her ear was a mess. Didn't she feel anything? Was she so secure behind her little walls?

"Daddy's girl..." He crooned it in a demented sing-song voice, like arsenic-laced champagne. She jerked. Her nose twitched, and she took a swift breath. She finally blinked. But that was it.

Jeez, what did a guy have to do to get a girl's attention around here? Force some stitch-worthy injuries on her?

"Don't call me that," she said softly. Rose could feel a smile somewhere inside of her, but she couldn't force her lips into the proper shape. She was disconnected, out of place, floating along inside her mind, barely conscious of the outside world. Everything moved in slow motion. She could feel the shallow breath pulled into her lungs and its struggle to escape back out again, could feel the soft, silken pumping of her heart. She knew, on some level, that she ought to be shivering in the frigid blasts of air coming out of the car's vents, and that her entire body should hurt from the wounds- the blood-crusted cuts, the flowering violet shadows on her skin, the still bleeding crescents on her palms, everything- but she just couldn't seem to gather enough energy to feel any of it, much less care about how it felt. Instead, she let herself float in that dark place in her mind, knowing and not caring that if she stayed any longer, she'd be the Passenger and her darkness would come out to play.

And as soon as the thought popped into her mind, she was sitting on the edge of that pool of blood in the back of her consciousness, dangling her feet in the crimson wetness. Her hair hung loose around her face as she bent to peer at her mental reflection in the pool. Something icy and bruising took a sharp hold on her left ankle, lacerating her skin, hauling on her with unstoppable strength. She didn't even resist, just let the pale hand pull her all the way into the pool of blood. She just didn't care anymore. It swallowed her, that blood, washing over her, filling her nose and mouth and ears until she was deaf and mute, blind and cut off from the rest of the world.

_Swallow,_ the Dark Passenger whispered. _Open your mouth and become..._

She did. She swallowed the thick, hot, salty blood, and with it came something dark, something alien and yet so very familiar, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear as it filled her mind. Black lace and blood red satin brushed against the inside of her skull, pouring into her head with the blood she'd swallowed in that special place that was not real but was more real than anywhere else. When Rose blinked and came back to herself, the chill of the air conditioner made her shiver. She, and the Dark Passenger, turned their head to stare at the Joker beside them. Rose shuddered, remembering the fear pouring into her from before. The Dark Passenger wanted to reach out and stroke the dark, mossy hair and nuzzle her bloody cheek against his thigh. The Passenger always did like a madman.

The clown noticed. His eyes widened, and his freakish mouth twisted into a grin. Now here was something new. That absinthe-on-fire gaze, that acidic green, serpentine thing he'd seen behind Rose's eyes was back, staring at him like a ravenous beast. His grin stretched wider when her eyes hardened into chips of emerald glass. He could cut himself open on the madness he saw coiling behind those beautiful, alcoholic eyes.

"And who," the Joker murmured, grinning still. "Are _you_, pretty lady?"

"Who do you think?" She snarled. Her hand was creeping forward, slowly, like a slug. He knew exactly what she was going for- his knife. The one he kept in his sock. The one he'd used on her earlier, to cut into her face. The question was, should he let her get to it? What would she do with something so bright, sharp, and shiny? Would it be fun to play her game? Or would Miss Rose be playing for keeps?

"Are you a monster?" He whispered, and reached out one gloved hand to cup her face. What would she do? Would she flinch? Blink? Lunge for the knife? Her skin was icy, even through his glove. Her eyes were glacial emeralds, but they didn't freeze, they burned. He could feel them searing away his flesh, turning his blood to molten lead, his entrails to ashes. This was not the woman he'd taken into his car. That woman was gone, vanished, behind the blank walls in Rose's mind. Now he was playing with the monster, the baby psychopath with its bloody thorns. How fun. "Do you want to kill me, pretty lady?" He cupped the back of her head. It was a race, he thought as he watched her watching him. Could he get a grip on her before she got his knife? And what would he do when he got that grip?

"Where do you go for fun in this town?"

Her fingers brushed his ankle, which he had crossed over his right leg. She blinked, and that bleeding edge faded away for a moment as she considered his question. She was still going for his knife. He was buring his fingers in her rich, red hair. The silken strands caressed the bare skin of his wrist. Her eyes were intoxicating, so insane, so angry. Burning poisonous fury. He wanted to carve out those eyes and put them in a jar, to preserve that lunatic hatred. So beautiful.

"My show," she answered. "I do my show." Her fingertips slipped beneath his purple and brown, diamond-patterned sock, tickling and tracing over the ridged scar that ran down his leg to his ankle. He realized she was masking her intention with a- rather paltry- attempt to make it seem like seduction. But her fingers were slipping further and further toward that bulge against his leg that was his hidden knife. He really wanted to see what hot things she was going to do with that knife. He had it planned, suddenly, just what he'd do when she did click the button to unsheathe that stinging, silvery blade. "At the Queen of Swords."

"Oh?"

They were playing it so casual, weren't they? Like she wasn't some psychotic killer in waiting, like he wasn't some madman in clown paint. Like he wasn't armed and hadn't just threatened to blow the mob sky high. Like she wasn't reaching for a weapon to turn him into hamburger. What a calm, cool, collected little monster he had riding in his car.

"Yessss..." She breathed as her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his knife. Her nails cut his skin. He felt the sting of blood waiting to well up and flow. She jerked back, and flicked the blade out so that it gleamed. He yanked on her hair. Flailing limbs, cursing, screams of frustration on her part, maniacal laughter on his, and then they were in just the position he wanted: him on top, her trapped beneath his weight. She stared up at him, hatred cutting his face wherever her gaze touched. His own knife was it his throat. The one he kept in his pocket was at hers. Their faces were inches apart.

"This is cozy," he murmured, wiggling. She growled. Her voice was like black handcuffs, crimson velvet, burning whiskey. What a babe. How many women had the balls to hold a knife to his throat? She jerked her head forward, snapping at his face. "Stop that, you're turning me on," he snapped, noticing the fresh cut just beneath her chin.

"What is your _deal?_" Rose snarled. Inside, the normal part of her was panicking, screaming the words, _He'll rape me, he'll rape me, he'll rape me_ over and over again. The Dark Passenger snarled, screamed at her to shut up while raging to tear the Joker to shreds of bloody meat. Her thorns were showing, she thought idly, as blood began to well up where she pressed the knife into the Joker's throat. She wanted so badly to see his blood gush... she wanted blood, fountains of it, oceans of it. If everyone in Gotham City died, it wouldn't be enough blood to sooth her desire for it.

"You're a monster, aren't you?" The Joker whispered. Immediately, Rose and her dark half were at attention. His voice breathed against their skin, warm against the iciness. The hand not occupied with holding the knife to their throat stroked their cheek. They were in perfect unison, Rose and her madness, fully synced for once. And their focus was on the Joker.

"Boss," the driver called from the front, "you want me to-"

"Shut up!" Joker roared. The Dark Passenger shivered at the hatred and rage in that voice. She wanted to cuddle against it, wrap it around herself like a warm, fur coat. That burning hot hatred warmed her like a wildfire. The Joker turned back and leaned in closer, expecting her to cut him again. His skin was screaming for a deeper, colder bite from the knife. But she relaxed a little, pulled the blade back an inch. He leaned in further, until their faces were separated by a single, inconsequential inch.

"You're not a monster," he murmured, feeling the deliciously cool ice of her skin even an inch away. Her breath was like winter. He half expected frost to form on his mouth as he closed that inch slowly, so excruciatingly slowly. He wanted to see if he was right about her. When he did it, would she stick the blade in him? Cut him? Stab him? Let him do it? "You're not a monster," he repeated, the softest of whispers. Oh, those intoxicating, psychotic eyes like a great, big, neon sign, burning like hell as her breathing went shallow. The ice beneath him chilled him to the bone. So cold, so very cold...

"Then what am I?" She hissed. That burning heat blanketing her body made her shake. She couldn't catch her breath. Her body ached, from the tussle, from the tension, from the burning. He was scorching her, his hot breath moist against her lips. His mouth brushed hers as he whispered, "You're just ahead of the curve... like me."

"Really?" Her snarl was so soft, so deadly. He half expected her to shove that knife straight into his groin, or his gut. The hatred in her eyes, blind and unyielding, it made his nerves fizz and his blood sing. Where had this woman come from? Where had she _been_ all of his life? This psychotic, insane, gorgeous woman who wouldn't hesitate to cut him into itty bitty pieces just so she could see what he looked like on the inside. "Ahead of the curve?"

"Oohhh, yes," he whispered, and lunged forward, swallowing her cry as he slammed his mouth down on hers. Ice cold lips, ice cold tongue, ice cold mouth, so frigid and icy and yet so alive as he cut a tiny line from just under her jaw down her neck, drawing rich, red, beautiful blood. She made a soft, little noise in the back of her throat when he cut her. It wasn't a noise of pain. He felt his own blade sink into his shoulder an inch deep, and he groaned. That wasn't from pain, either. He nipped and bit, tasting frigid blood. So cold, all of her, so cold, like ice, like glaciers, like frozen hell. He was burning, burning cold where his skin touched hers, achingly cold, and he wanted more, so much more. He wanted to feel that ice, fill his veins with it, use it, cut up the world with it. He wanted this woman, this insane, secret monster.

But it would take more than a kiss. He knew that.

When she shoved the blade in deeper, another inch, a half inch more, it was hilt deep. He could feel it scrape bone, and he shuddered. The hot throbbing from his shoulder pulsed through him in tandem with another burning rhythm, but he was only going to indulge one of those needs.

He got back into his seat, taking both knives with him. Rose blinked, suddenly disoriented, and sat up slowly. The Dark Passenger purred in her mind as it slunk back to where it belonged, that pool of blood in the bottom of her subconscious. And Rose Damundo was back to being herself, all of herself. Shields up, walls down, and blinking dazedly as she tried to absorb just what had happened. She touched her lips, which tingled, and her fingertips came away wet with blood. When had he bitten her?

She stared over at him, the way he lounged so casually against the seat, smiling almost affectionately.

"When's the next show?" He asked.

"Six o'clock," she answered, beginning to shiver. This place was freezing. Couldn't they turn down the freaking air conditioner? And what time was it, anyway? When she checked the clock, she saw it was five in the evening, and panicked. "Oh, my God, I'm late for work!"

Joker couldn't believe it. After all that had happened, she could think about that kind of mundane thing? He was obviously not doing his bloody job. Especially since she still hadn't mentioned what had to be the agonizing injury of an ear missing a couple pieces and an earring. "And if you don't show up?" The Joker demanded. He was surprised by the sudden look of near panic on her face as she replied, "Then Crystal comes looking for me."

"Who's Crystal?"

"A blonde bomb on crack," she answered dryly. "I need to get to work."

She focused on ignoring everything in her that told her to panic, including the thought that the Joker might kill her. She didn't have time for panic. And the Passenger wasn't exactly staying in the background, either, which helped a little. It wasn't exactly the peaceful serenity she was going for, but the Dark Passenger was keeping her collected, even if it was with an icy wall of rage and hatred so cold it almost didn't register as emotion. But she did need to get to work before Crystal lost her temper and came looking. People might die. Things would definitely get blown up. The Damundo sisters couldn't afford that kind of trouble.

Joker scowled. Rose's tranquil attitude was starting to irritate him. He liked the monster in her better. Maybe he oughtta slice some fear back into her... Then he saw her eyes, and knew better. That darkness was still there.

"Fine... but I'm gonna be at the show," he replied, and laughed at her expression.

She could only stare at him as the Mercedes barreled through Gotham towards the Palisades, on its homicidal little way towards the Queen of Swords nightclub, and wonder what the hell she was supposed to do now.

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**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 6:** _Ignoring the way Danni and her sister backed up, Crystal bared her teeth in something only a madman would call a smile and slammed her slender frame into the door. Something cracked, and it wasn't Crystal. She slammed into it again, a wordless snarling scream building behind her clamped lips. Red descended over her eyes, and everything was so boiling hot, her blood simmering in her veins as she threw herself angrily at the door._

**Chapter 7:** _Some of those women... they were cold blooded killers. He could see it. He could taste it, ice and blood and gunpowder and metal. The steel taste of a knife in your mouth, the salt of blood and tears, the ice cold chill of intense murder. Those four women, they were killers._

**Chapter 8:** _"Why are you only a pain in the ass when I'm in danger?" Rachel managed to gasp out, turning to the woman next to her, who dropped her head onto Rachel's shoulder._

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_awww, first kiss! So, what do you think? crazy and bizarre enough?_


	6. 06 Ace of Diamonds

**Chapter Six**

**Ace of Diamonds  
**

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_You're scary, you know that?_

She could see that sentiment reflected in the eyes of her coworkers. At least, the ones not related to her. Sadie kept stride with her as they strutted, jazz style, down the hall. Her heels clicked on the tile, like snapping teeth. The light glinted on her blond hair, sunshine on the edge of a razor. Her eyes scanned the crowd, raking over the girls who'd stopped dead in their tracks to watch the Damundo sisters walk by. She could practically taste the jealousy and hatred burning off of them, giving the air a shimmer like boiling asphalt in summer. It didn't touch her- she was ice cold, a snow queen, winter princess, white witch. But her fingers twitched to wrap around something sharp and cut, cut, cut until she could crystalize the blood gushing out of all those wounds, turning it to delicate, crimson ice. She_ hated_ these girls.

_Well,_ her irritating inner voice murmured, _you _are_ scary. Remember that time you ripped out that hunk of Janee's hair-_

**_Shut up!_**

Sadie touched her arm, and she jerked away. She didn't need to be reminded how good they had it. She would keep it zipped, since she absolutely had to. She would keep herself under control. No bloodshed.

"Crystal!"

She whirled around, tensing, eyes narrowed to violet knives, hands curling into fists as she scanned the hall behind her for whoever had called her name. Who was there? Who wanted some? Some of that temper, some of that rage, some of that hate? Some of that death just waiting to be handed out? She'd give it good, forget the consequences.

Crystal took a step forward, and Sadie grabbed her arm. It took all of her self-control not to hit the younger woman. Sadie wasn't her enemy. Sadie wouldn't hurt her. Sadie was okay. But she had to bite down on her tongue, so that it gushed salty blood into her mouth, in order to keep her fists at her side. She didn't want to hit Sadie, she reminded herself. If she hit Sadie, then the young woman wouldn't be getting back up. There'd probably be broken bones. Maybe- probably- internal bleeding. She couldn't afford to lose her temper with one of the few people who actually gave a damn about her.

"Crystal," the call came again, and Danielle Spinelli ran over, sliding along the tile in her stocking feet until she came to a halt in front of the blond woman.

Danni knew not to take it personally that Crystal's icy hatred only thawed slowly, a glacier melting away over an excruciatingly long moment. That indigo ice gaze slowly melted until Danni was looking at beautiful, jewel violet eyes with something kind of like warmth glimmering in their depths. The fists unclenched, and Crystal twisted her fingers, cracking her knuckles one at a time, keeping her gaze focused on Danni. The sound was like the creak of a humongous, ancient glacier. The message was for everyone else in the hall. Taking a slow breath- Danni had run the whole way from the lobby to the dressing hall behind the stage- she suppressed the burning in her chest and lungs enough to say, "Rose, I found Rose. She just came in."

Sadie and Danni both squeaked when Crystal grabbed their wrists, squeezing until both women thought they'd have bruises, and dragged them off in the direction they'd just come, towards Rose's dressing room.

Hauling her sister and her best friend behind her as she hurtled through the corridor, she wasn't thinking about bruises, which is probably why, later that night, both Danni and Sadie had matching blue bracelets of bruises on their wrists. She wasn't thinking about where to put her feet down as she strode forward, which is why the girls she stepped on hurled obscenities at her about their smashed toes. And she didn't think to herself about how rude it was that she just shoved these women out of her way to get to Rose's room. It wasn't as if she'd do this to everyone. But most of these girls had at one time or another put tacks or pieces of broken glass in her or her sisters' shoes, had left tarantulas and snakes in their dressing rooms, and other things she didn't want to think about because she didn't want to squeeze too hard and break Sadie's wrist.

They made it to the door, and Crystal tried the knob.

Locked.

She throttled the urge to scream, beat it bloody, pounded it mercilessly back into the recesses of her mind where it belonged. She was the one in control. She was not going to scream. She was not going to hit the damn door. She was not going to punch a trembling Danni in the face- she'd get blood on her shirt. And she liked Danni.

_Open this damn door, Rosaline! _She roared, but all she got in response was a headache as her telepathic message hit her sister's shield. What the hell? Why was Rose shielding against her? Where had she been? Call time was in twenty minutes! Ignoring the way Danni and her sister backed up, Crystal bared her teeth in something only a madman would call a smile and slammed her slender frame into the door. Something cracked, and it wasn't Crystal. She slammed into it again, a wordless snarling scream building behind her clamped lips. Red descended over her eyes, and everything was so boiling hot, her blood simmering in her veins as she threw herself angrily at the door.

_**Open the damn fucking door!**_

She tried body slamming the door three more times. The crack in the large panel of rowan wood was getting pretty big. But it was taking _way _too long. Crystal's eyes were beginning to frost over. She was starting to growl, that war cry just begging to be let out. This door was starting to piss her off. If Rose didn't want to see them, that was fine. She was entitled to her damn feelings. But no one in the Damundo family went missing, out of range of all contact, for more than a couple hours and expected things to just blow over like nothing had happened. Rose had some serious explaining to do. And if she didn't want to open the door like a civilized person, than she ought to expect Crystal to lose her bloody temper and start destroying things. Period.

Sadie covered her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek. Danni covered her mouth, eyes huge in her face. Crystal snarled something obscene and banged her head against the door as hard as she could, ignoring the black spots dancing in front of her eyes. She left a smudge of powder on the varnished wood.

"_All right, already!_"

The door creaked open. Sadie and Danni darted in.

Crystal straightened her hair, her tux shirt, and took a deep, calming breath. Now was the time to be calm, cool, collected. Now was the time to relax, to give her sister a chance to explain herself. Now was the time to make sure everything was all right and then go back outside and head for the stage, ready for the night's show. Tranquility, serenity, peacefulness- that's what the situation called for.

"I'm going to kill you!" The blonde shrieked, slamming the door shut after her. Glass shattered as something in a frame fell of the wall.

Crystal stopped short when she saw what her sister was doing: scrubbing blood off of her skin. Her tux shirt was lying in a heap on the floor, stained crimson and maroon. Rose was almost naked from the waist up, in only her black bra. She had no makeup, no clothes, no jewelry, nothing. And one ear looked as ragged as a rabbit's in a fight, caked with dark, drying blood. Apparently, Crystal's rage would have to wait a while.

Sadie immediately took over, using the wet wash cloth to quickly, gently clean the wounds. Luckily, they were no longer bleeding, but this was going to pose a problem. Apparently she'd picked up a cut on her face and a bunch of nicks on her neck somehow, not to mention a ripped earlobe.

Danni went rifling through Rose's closet, looking for her spare tux shirt and undershirts. Finding them all, she laid them out for the older woman, trying to keep as quiet and unobtrusive as possible.

Crystal trembled, trying to keep from slamming her fist into the huge mirror in front of her. Breaking a mirror was seven years bad luck, after all. Or some stupid crap like that. And she'd cut up her favorite pair of gloves. Instead, she immediately grabbed her sister's makeup kit and dumped it out on the other woman's vanity, trying not to swear.

Rose stared at her younger sister as she arranged the makeup on the vanity table. Crystal's eyes were frosted, sugared violets- always a bad sign. And the blond woman was shivering, shuddering as she set aside the makeup she was going to use on Rose. Repressed fury in a bottle. The blond paused for a minute, grabbed a Kleenex, and spat a gob of blood into it from where she'd bitten her tongue. She tossed the used cloth into the trash.

It was a good thing, Rose admitted silently, that she'd let the three girls in. She needed help getting ready. Rose's hands were trembling, she could barely maintain enough control to keep herself from hyperventilating, and her ear was one throbbing mass of pain. She knew what was going to come when it was time to hide the injury, and she didn't think she could force herself to do it. But Crystal could do it to her. As pissed as she was, Crystal could definitely get it done, and she probably wouldn't care how much it hurt. Idly, almost dazedly, she wondered how much money it would cost to fix that door.

"Crystal-"

_What happened?_ The younger woman demanded, cutting Rose off. She was clenching her teeth so tightly together her jaw ached. She needed to keep a tighter leash on her rage, she thought, and with that thought came a small measure of calm and the taste of ice in her mouth. Her fingertips and toes started to go numb. Fighting the burning rage with her internal cold, fighting it with her own mental, icy winter trying, she bit down on her tongue until she could taste the coppery chill of her own blood. Then she grabbed the wash cloth Sadie had dropped back into its bowl of cool water and began scrubbing at the caked blackness around Rose's ear.

"What happened, Ace?" Danni asked, sinking gracefully into a cross legged position on the floor by the abused door. Rose was too shocky to realize, but Crystal did- Danni was guarding the door. Even as the older woman thought this, the petite brunette reached up behind her and locked the door. "If someone attacked you, you should tell someone. Mr. Wayne would help you, you know."

Rose squeezed her eyes shut against Danni's words and what Crystal was doing to her ear. The water felt good, but at the same time burned in the wound. It took almost a full minute of her sister's forceful swiping before the ear was scrubbed clean, and had begun bleeding again. Without hesitating, Crystal grabbed the little sewing kit Rose kept on her vanity for replacing broken buttons and began threading a needle. Rose tried to focus, but it was almost an impossible task. How the hell was she supposed to focus on anything when her entire body throbbed with pain and the Joker... the Joker was in the nightclub, somewhere, waiting for the show to start. Waiting for _their_ show to start.

She didn't want to tell anyone what had happened, she realized as the needle sank into her flesh. She didn't want to say a word to anyone about it, except her sisters and Danni. There was no one she could trust as well as those three. She wanted to keep it close. It felt so inordinately private, the cutting and the taste of blood, his hand on her thigh and bruising her wrist, his mouth on hers, hot enough to melt her glacial darkness...

Crystal could feel waves of anxiety and confusion pouring off of her sister, but chose to ignore it as she stitched the wound closed. This wasn't the worst part. The makeup would be the worst. After the burning. Motioning to Danni, who tossed her a lighter, Crystal flicked the Zippo, popping the flame. She held it for a long moment, ignoring the way Rose shuddered, and then, vanquishing the fire back to where it came from, Crystal pressed the burning hot metal to the wound. She tried to ignore the hating, hateful sense of perverse pleasure the stench of sizzling flesh gave her. The three Damundo sisters had learned a long time ago how to deal with injuries they didn't want to explain. They'd have to explain this to Bruce later, but for now, they had a show to do, and they couldn't be bleeding all over the stage.

"Makeup-" Rose whispered, reaching for the foundation, but Crystal grabbed it first, muttering, "I got it."

Crystal powdered the wound as gently as she could, to hide it under the stage lights. Her movements were jerky, sharp. She wasn't used to moving fluidly, slowly. The effort made her grit her teeth.

Rose let her mind drift into memory in an attempt to ignore the brutal throbbing pain on the side of her head. She and the Dark Passenger needed to have a discussion. What the hell had that kiss been about? Even thinking about it made her psychotic other half purr with pleasure and satisfaction. And unlike a real predator, it wanted to share the wealth. Her darkness tried to brush against Crystal, rub against her like a cat, but her sister's other half hissed a warning. Rose felt a little sad at the thought. The only reason Crystal's inner demon didn't like mingling with hers was because it wasn't a demon. Rose, Sadie, and even Danni had their inner darkness. Crystal was so deeply entrenched in hatred and violence, her inner voice was the nice part, the Good Child.

_You think too much,_ the Dark Passenger whispered, psychotic lullaby. _Why not enjoy the kiss? The blood, the heat?_

_He's a whack job,_ she replied inside. _Why did you kiss him?_

_Because, _the Passenger replied, sounding breathless, _he is part of us. All of us. His madness is our madness. Don't you see? We have found one like us. A mate. Don't you see? Don't you understand?_

Glancing at the clock, she saw how close they were cutting it. This was a sloppy, ten minute job, so far. They only had ten more minutes to get backstage. Focusing on the time helped her to wake up. Shaking off her stunned apathy, Rose grabbed her lip pencil and gloss and began applying it, keeping her arm and hand out of Crystal's way as the blond powdered over the wounds on her neck, hiding the angry, red mouths that could've belonged to carnivorous fairies.

Crystal herself was focused on not-so-subtly eavesdropping, which, while considered incredibly rude, was also incredibly useful. And if Rose didn't kick her out, then she was in the clear. So far, she hadn't been kicked out. And as for what she was picking up... she could see everything that had happened to her sister, could see this man in clown paint who'd pushed buttons and pulled strings like a master manipulator. Who was this man? And why did Rose's Dark Passenger yearn for him? Rose's inner beast hated all men, and yet... this one, with a conversation, a kidnapping, and a kiss, had pulled that lunatic portion of her into rapturous infatuation.

_What do you think?_ Crystal whispered inside her own soul.

_I think y'all are crazy,_ the sane part of her replied quickly. _He's nuts, and you're nuts to be seen with him. He's out of his mind. Don't you guys read the papers?_

_No,_ she replied dryly, and realized the powder was done. Scanning Rose's strangely blank face, she grabbed the vibrant emerald shadow and began brushing the silky powder over her sister's eyelids, bleeding it out up to her eyebrows. What was it about electric colors? Electric blue, green, violet. Only Danni had something as mundane as gold. _And besides, we're all nuts, but you're still in there._

_That's not-_

_Save it,_ she snapped, and set the eyeshadow down. She struggled for calm. She really needed to do this show. She needed this fight: the fight against the other women who were her enemies, the fight against the lights burning and blistering, the fight against the audience for their appreciation and their money. Even the fight against herself, her body, her rage. She needed that fight so badly. Her entire body shook with the need of it.

But this man... the Joker. Was there going to be a fight with him? Were they about to go to war with a madman who understood them better than anyone else? She didn't know.

Projecting to the others, showing them everything, she added, _We girls need to decide what to do about this Joker, guy._

"We let him in," Rose whispered. There was something behind that voice, behind those words, that made Crystal twitch. Something hot burned in the back of her throat, so at odds with the icy chill she kept pulled tight around her. Danni asked, shocked, "Are you sure?"

"Are you _insane_?" Crystal demanded. Rose gave her sister a scathing look, full of memory and thorns, and snarled, "That is so rich, coming from someone like you. No, I'm not insane. He... we..." She sighed, frustrated, unable to explain. Finally she just snapped, "We leave him alone. That's _all_ I'm saying. Let him watch the show." That would be all he would need, she thought. "Don't tell anyone." Crystal glared, frosted violet eyes, and snarled, "Why. Not. Tuh?! He could kill us! He might blow us up! I like my life! And I have vengeance waiting to be brought down on people! I don't want to die." Danni raised her hand and added, "I second that motion."

"Trust me," Rose said. Her voice was dark, cold. Danni slowly lowered her hand. Crystal growled, low in her throat, and slammed her white-gloved fist into the vanity table, cracking it. "And quit vandalizing my stu-"

"Shove it," the younger woman hissed. "Get dressed, we got a show in five minutes. C'mon." Crystal didn't see Sadie watching them all from her place in the corner with the tiniest smile on her face, hidden behind her chin-length curtain of ragged, jet black hair.

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**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 7:** _The Joker wondered if that mask of mad hate was just that, a mask, or whether it was something more. A window, perhaps, into the depths of her rage._

**Chapter 8:** _"No," she mumbled, shuddering. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, she thought suddenly, wildly, her eyes burning with unshed tears as she kept repeating over and over again, a mantra, "No, no, no, no." The wall at her back was icy cold, so cold it burned, and she shook. Maggie's icy blue eyes, burning with some satanic emotion, scorched her._

**Chapter 9:** _"Sure, Joker," Rose whispered. She could feel the moron shackling her with his arms stiffen, as if she'd told him that he was going to be forced to French kiss a hooded, gleaming fanged cobra. The older woman grinned, baring her gleaming teeth, so stark white against the blood red lips._

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_I broke up this chapter and the next chapter because I like all my chapters to be the same length and if I'd kept them joined, the chap would be, like, 7000/8000 words. Me no like that. So, here's a more in-depth intro of Crystal. Now we just have Danni, who can wait a bit._

_Now, what I'm going for is a Brides of Dracula kind of deal. If you've ever read the original Dracula, there were 5 women in his life: his 3 brides, Mina Harker, and Mina's friend Lucy. You'll see all five of these women reflected in this fic, as well as some of the male character archetypes, including Dracula (oh, gee, I wonder who represents Dracula, hmmm...). I didn't set out to do this, it just kind of turned out that way, so I'm going with it. But no, there are NO vampires in this fic._

_Hope you enjoyed. Please leave me lovely reviews. I do often take suggestions for things to include or not to include, so if you have any comments of that nature, feel free to drop me a line._


	7. 07 Four Merry Black Widows

_For the song featured here, check this: _

_www. youtube. com /watch? v GoCZEmfnE-M_

_(remove the spaces)_

**.**

**.**

**Chapter Seven**

**Four Merry Black Widows**

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He waited. He could be patient. Like a rattlesnake waiting to lunge and strike, like a cobra waiting until his prey came close enough to be mesmerized by his serpentine, hypnotic gaze, he could wait patiently in the front row sear of this adorable theatre, this little vaudeville club, until the curtain came up. A red velvet curtain, like burgundy wine, scarlet hell, crimson blood, but soft as Death's kiss. The entire theatre was dark and hushed, anticipatory. This place was perfect. It was a game, now, but a serious one. No kidding, no joking, no laughter. Well, not yet, anyway. No laughter yet. But he had to admit, when the show began, he might find something to be amused about. But he wanted to snare his little lunatic. She could be used, turned into the most wonderful kind of monster. But first, to observe her in one of her most natural environments. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was exactly six o'clock, and as he lifted his head, the curtain went up on a pitch black stage. Well, well, well... What now?

A single spotlight. A woman he didn't recognize, hanging upside down in a chair. Her hair was a dull red, more brown than red, that brushed the floor of the stage. Her feet stuck straight up in the air. A white tux shirt- now where, he wondered sarcastically, had he seen a shirt like that before? Black leggings, brilliant makeup, hot pink and vibrant, bleeding like murdered Easter Bunny. It made his eyes hurt. Made him fiddle with the knife in his pocket.

Music began. Gently jazzy. Piano, some brass, a thump of gentle drums.

"Pop," she said.

A second spotlight, and he recognized the flame haired woman with the absinthe eyes, seated backwards on a chair. A man sat cross-legged on the stage floor in front of her. This time, he wasn't looking for the psychotic monster in her. He was simply looking at the woman. He saw everything- she was barely six feet away. Her hair hung down her back, shining with glitter. Each piece of glitter gleamed like a tiny blade against the blood auburn strands. Her gloves were black. In her hands was a crimson silk scarf, like something out of a magic show, the ends wrapped around her black leather fists. Her eyes gleamed like shards of jade glass. The electric emerald of her eyeshadow made those alcoholic eyes snap like lightning. The crimson rosebud of her mouth made him think of wine and eviscerae, of arterial damage and cherries. From where he sat, the Joker couldn't see the injuries he'd dealt her.

With a look of vicious fury, loathing, hellish hate, Rose snarled at the audience, "Six."

A third spotlight, and a woman with blond hair iced out to whiteness by the silver light lay on her back across the seat of another chair, her cobalt eye makeup sparkling like frost, her plum colored lips twisted into a homicidal grin. She toyed with another red scarf. Her lush lips made a sensual pout as she hissed, "Squishhhhh..." Something about the way she said it, lavender eyes blazing behind lacy black lashes, reminded the clown of the sound a knife makes sinking into flesh. A hulking beef-bound moron stood behind her, ham hands curling around the top of the chair back, looming over the girl.

He ignored the fourth woman- she looked so normal. It was the fifth and last of the women.

The fifth, holding herself in an acrobatic form above the seat of her chair, her legs spread out in the splits, toes pointed outward, grinned and shrugged, murmuring, "Cicero" from behind a curtain of gleaming, ebony hair down to her chin. It had to have been a trick of the light, but the eyes framed by black lashes and electric violet powder gleamed an animalistic gold. Something about those mad, bestial eyes, and the feral hunger in them, reminded him of demons. Two immobile performers lay on the floor on either side of her, still as death. And the last, a petite brunette with steel gray eyes, sat in her own chair, her legs wrapped around a man's neck as he sat in front of her. Her arms rested on the top of his head, and she smiled, such a charmingly malevolent smile, and whispered, "Lipschitz."

Some of those women... they were cold blooded killers. He could see it. He could taste it, ice and blood and gunpowder and metal. The steel taste of a knife in your mouth, the salt of blood and tears, the ice cold chill of intense murder. Those four women, they were killers. He almost didn't hear it when the narrator introduced them as, "And now, the six merry murderesses of the Crooked County Jail, in their rendition of... the Cell Block Tango."

On stage, Rose felt the heat of the stage lights baking her makeup to her face. She could ignore the throbbing in her ear, ignore the stinging cuts at her neck and the one on the side of her face. She could ignore the way the hard seat of the chair bit into her butt, cutting off the circulation to her legs. She focused instead on the rhythm of the music, the feel of the makeup, the way her clothes fit her body, the way her muscles rippled like a mermaid beneath the water as she poised, ready to move into action. Her time to say her buzz word, "six," came and went again and again, four times after the first, and then the music changed. She thumped the heels of her character shoes on the stage floor in time with music- they all did. The rhythm rumbled up through the soles of her feet, pulsed in time with her heart. The Dark Passenger stretched and purred. It liked show tunes.

The stage lights went up- all of them, a blinding shower of amber electric light.

"He had it coming," she half-sang, half-chanted along with the others, some demonic, Venusian manta. "He had it coming. He only had himself to blame. If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it!" The music drowned out the inner calling, drowned out every need except the desire to dance, to sing along, to show off. She wasn't Rose anymore, she was Ace, lady of the stage. Briefly wondering why she'd been given the name Ace a year ago by Bruce Wayne, she brushed the question away when Sadie jerked her head up and snarled accusingly, "I betcha you would have done the same!"

Sadie let her head jerk back down to stare at the stage floor as the round robin of buzz words went through again. She only lifted her head back up again to snarl, "Cicero." Then she ignored the woman singing after her, focusing on the Whisperers, and the memories.

_He's not here,_ she whispered to them. _Be quiet, he's not here._

_He is,_ they hissed, snarled, whispered, gasped. _Don't you feel him? The flame, the burning gasolene flame, it burns up the whole world, all the world, us too, don't you feel it?_

_What do you mean?_

_Feel it, recognize it,_ they told her. She shivered, suddenly ice cold even under the blazing stage lights. Something beckoned her, called to her, a siren call, the demon song of the Pied Piper, something below the register. It danced over her skin as one of her coworkers performed for the audience, muttering and complaining about the man who popped his gum too much. She ignored that, trying to sense what it was that was giving her goosebumps. What was that whisper call? That shriek to be recognized, obeyed, submitted to? And why didn't it terrify her? Her heart thundered in her chest, bass beat accompanying that song that called to all of her senses, but it wasn't fear. It wasn't what it should have been, a healthy dose of terror for her life.

She glanced at Crystal from behind the curtain of her hair, trying to guage the emotion reflected in her sister's eyes despite the insane grin on her face. Did she feel it too? Did Rose? Did Danni? Sadie shuddered when she caught the edge of repressed, mad excitement in Crystal's violet eyes, right before she veiled them with her lashes. Was she excited for the performance? Or because of that other-entity out there it the audience, calling to her?

_He calls to all of you,_ the Whisperers said softly, breathing ice along her spine. Tears suddenly burned the backs of her eyes, but she dared not cry on stage. She had more control than that, darn it! But this whisper... it wasn't hers. Where was it coming from?

Crystal didn't try to hide the growing excitement in her body, electrifying every nerve, as her turn came closer and closer. She reveled in performing. She loved that fight. It was a quiet fight, but bloody, harsh, and never ending. The fight against those two bimbos on stage with them was the best fight. It required hours of practice, of sweat and blood and pain, hours of kicking imaginary ass until the time came when she ascended the stage, ready for bear, and used all of her skill and practice to good use shredding the puffed up egos of the stupid floozies Bruce Wayne decided to employ here at the Queen of Swords. She loved destroying them, because they, like her and her sisters, knew one thing- in a world where performance is everything, if you can't perform, what good are you?

So she thumped her heels on the hard wooden floor of the stage as they went through the chorus again, and the only inkling she had that something sinister prowled beyond the safe haven of the stage and its golden lights was the Good Child, her conscience, her hiding sanity, shrinking even further back from the world as that phantom caress, that psychotic call to arms, to blood, to violence, to death and anarchy, washed over the women on the stage.

The Joker watched as Rose got to her feet and strode toward the single standing microphone on the stage.

Striking a bored, irritated stance, she said, "I met Ezekiel Young from Salt Lake city about two years ago, and he told me he was single... and we hit it off right away. So, we started living together. He'd go to work, he'd come home, I'd fix him a drink, We'd have dinner."

He was about to get bored when suddenly she brought her foot down on the stage floor with a bang.

Grabbing the mic like she wanted to strangle it, she snarled, "And then I found out! 'Single,' he told me. Single, my ass. Not only was he married, oh, no. He had _six wives_." Shrugging almost nonchalantly, she added, "One of those Mormons, you know."

Stepping back from the mic, moving like a jaguar about to rip out the throat of its prey in a fountain of blood and foam, she slid down onto the floor beside her chair, sitting sideways, this time. Her hands found the shoulders of the man seated next to her, massaging gently, laying her cheek against the bare shoulder. She looked almost loving. And then she slapped him, hard enough that the theatre resounded with the crack of her palm against his face. The man went sliding several inches across the floor, and Rose crawled after him, jerkily, furiously, her face twisted with hatred, a demented black widow spider intent of slaughter. She straddled him, staring intently down at the man's face, and then jerked her head up, her hair flying, her eyes wide and snapping like electric death. That hatred was still there on her face as she scanned the audience, her gaze slashing them to shreds.

The Joker wondered if that mask of mad hate was just that, a mask, or whether it was something more. A window, perhaps, into the depths of her rage.

"So that night, when he came home, I fixed him his drink as usual." She leaned down, as if she might kiss the man beneath her, who lay immobilized, trembling. Joker could see the sweat popping out on the shmuck's forehead as Rose lifted her head back up, that same scarlet silk she'd had earlier clenched between her blindingly white teeth. What she said next made the Joker laugh out loud.

"You know, some guys just can't hold their arsenic."

And the singing began again, the chorus of them all as Rose snapped to her feet and dragged the corpse of her victim back with her to her chair, leaving him lying there as she sank down, graceful and slow, smiling a sweet, serene smile as she thumped her heels on the floor in time with the other five women. What a woman.

The blond leapt up this time, spinning once on her heel. The sadistic grin on her face made the Joker shiver. Now here was another interesting tid bit. How many psychotic women could work in one place? The blond turned towards the moron behind her, beckoning seductively as she walked half-backwards to the microphone.

"Now, I'm standing in the kitchen," she murmured into the mic. Her voice was like ice crusted silk, molten heat, chilling pain. She molds her body to the mic stand, smiling. "Carving up the chicken for dinner," she adds, with a gleam in her eye. Oh, yeah, the Joker could imagine what kind of chicken she'd be carving, with that razor edge smile and eyes like jagged glass. Who was this woman? Where did this club find these sick, homicidal whackos? She couldn't be that good of an actress. No one could fake madness like that. "Minding my own business," she says then, sounding suddenly as innocent as a baby and defensive, almost frightened. The little-girl-lost look on her face could charm a snake. Was he the only one who saw that feral edge to it? Harsh and inhuman, diamond cut cruelty. "And in storms my husband Wilbur in a jealous rage." Her eyes hardened to chips of violet ice. If he'd been on the receiving end of that look and been one of these other sad saps in the audience, his balls might have shriveled up into nothingness.

" 'You been screwing the milkman,' he says. He was crazy," she snapped, and backhanded the big man behind her. He fell to his knees, and she back-kicked him in the face so that he went sprawling. "And he kept on screaming, 'You've been screwing the milkman." The big man lunged for her, and she dodged. Coming around behind him, she kicked the back of one knee, and he went down. She grabbed his head and made a slashing motion at his throat, revealing another of those crimson sashes. "And then," she murmured, as if commenting on the weather, "he ran into my knife." She sank back into her chair as the big man fell backwards onto the floor beside it. Her head cocked to one side in a sickeningly innocent gesture, she added, "He ran into my knife _ten times_."

_Oh, yesssss..._ Joker thought. _This one is definitely worth recruiting. Another baby monster. This one might not be such a baby, actually, _he added, smiling a little.

Danni watched Crystal take her seat, anticipation hitting her hard in the chest. Adrenaline pumped into her veins, liquid lightning, strawberry crack. It was almost time for Sadie to go up, and then it was her turn. Because of the person she was supposed to be in this number, she could afford to smile. She still liked her guy... right now. Kind of. She was just supposed to be suspicious. And since she could smile, she did, though it was hidden almost completely by the way she bent her head to look down at the man she had her scarf wrapped around.

Something shimmered, like summer heat or mist, and it took everything in her power not to jerk in the direction of that weird visual, which was straight down the center of the stage in the audience, front row. She didn't know what it was, but it was magnetic. Moth to flame magnetic, and her innate warning system screamed that moth-to-flame was exactly the nature of that shimmering pull, including wings burn to ashes. She dug in her heels and tried to ignore it as she focused on the other girl, the coworker who had put glass in Sadie's shoe two weeks ago, as she mumbled in faux Hungarian and was danced around like a ballerina. It was the woman whose buzz word was "uh-uh." But that hazy feeling from the audience kept grabbing at her attention. It wanted her to focus on it, look at it. It was whispering, look, look. Come see, I'm here, you want to look, come look. She bit her cheek, and the pain didn't help.

_Danni?_

_Crystal, don't you feel that?_

_Feel what?_ The blond asked, still keeping that sick smile plastered across her made up face. She had no idea what the younger woman was talking about, unless... Crystal didn't hesitate, just plunged into her own psyche, calling. When she'd gone as deep as she could into that dark, black diamond abyss, she finally felt the tiniest butterfly brush of the Good Child, who squealed like a frightened pig about _the presence_ calling them to war. She had no idea what it was talking about, war, but she had the idea that was what Danni was talking about.

Danni felt something like the brush of the sharp edge of a playing card against her mind, and she bit her cheek harder to suppress a shiver. She couldn't afford to show her discomfort. But what the hell was going on? What was that feeling, that awareness that called to her? Did any of the others hear it? And why did it make her feel... alive?

Unaware of her friend's discomfort, Sadie began to speak when she heard her cue, but she didn't break the pose she held, her body inches off the chair, supported by her now-cramping hands and aching wrists, legs spread. She was close to the point where she'd have to stop, but not yet. She wasn't there yet. And despite that strange calling, she wasn't distracted.

"My sister, Veronica and I had this double act and my husband, Charlie, traveled around with us. Now, for the last number in our act, we did 20 acrobatic tricks one two three four,five...splits, spread eagles, back flips,flip flops, one right after the other."

Sighing inwardly, gratitude thrumming through her body, especially her sore bits, she did a tumble off the chair and rolled, coming up to stand on her own crossed feet. It was easy for her to speak her lines- she knew them by heart. There was no improptu scripting, no improv, no fillibuster. She didn't have to worry that what she was saying would get her a slap or a beating or worse. She could just go with the flow, following the lines of the script, and everyone would hear her clear, silver velvet voice speaking throughout the theatre.

"Well, this one night we were in the hotel Cicero," she added, and sashayed up to the mic.

There was something, the Joker mused, different about this one. There was an air of restrained violence in her, even moreso than the blond. There was a tingling electric feel to her, a burning fire underneath a blanket of smothering ash. There was more than madness in the slim form dressed in white and black, her animal gold eyes smoldering in their sockets. There wasn't just lunacy, but something else. It tasted like, smelled like, felt like, looked like, sounded like... power. Pure, raw, power. Something told him that, with this little star on the stage now, he could do a helluva lot of damage. But how? Why?

"The three of us," she continued, "boozin' and havin' a few laughs when we run out of ice. So I went out to get some. I come back, open the door... and there's Veronica and Charlie, doing Number Seventeen- the spread eagle!"

A gunshot rang out, and the theatre went dark. Several shots later, and the theatre lights came on. Most of the people had fled at the first sign of trouble. _Spineless meat sacks,_ the Joker thought contemptuously. He looked around, and saw something fun enough to lift his spirits. Mob goons, and they had the four homicidal performers trapped in their beefy arms. These guys had to be hired muscled, because the vacant expressions on their faces made them look like incredibly stupid zombies.

"Let go of me, you sick sonofabitch!" The blond screamed, thrashing and struggling wildly. She snapped and shrieked and snarled, baring teeth stained crimson with blood. One of the men rubbing his jaw, where he most likely had been punched, had a chunk of his bicep missing. Joker imagined the feisty blond had had something to do with the missing meat. She kicked her feet, trying to bring her heel up into the man's groin. Apparently stomping hard on his feet hadn't worked out very well. She slammed her head back, and the clown heard the beautiful crunch of cartilage as the blond woman smashed her captor's nose, yelling, "I said let go of me, you bastard!" He dropped her, and crawled away.

Rose wasn't struggling, but that serpentine, intoxicating look was back in her eyes as her gaze focused on him. For a minute, something hot and icy washed over him, swirling together and washing over his skin, prickling the back of his neck. She was doing something, and she was trying to keep it from spilling over onto him. Blood ran down her chin as her teeth sank into her lips.

The petite brunette who hadn't gotten her turn was snarling insults and twisting, twisting so she got one arm free. As soon as she got her hand loose, her nails raked over the muscle man's face, drawing blood. He immediately dropped her, and she scuttled out of reach against the wall beside the blond.

The dark haired woman who'd been interrupted gave a soft gasp, and her eyes rolled up into her head. She sagged in the goon's arms, and he dropped her to the floor, assuming her unconscious. Without a second's hesitation, she snaked forward and sank her teeth into his calf muscle.

Sadie clung grimly to the screaming man, tasting blood spraying into her mouth as her teeth sank deeper into the meat of his leg. Her nails sank in as well, and for a moment she tasted triumph along with the blood. Then the Whisperers all screamed, _Pain!_ And something collided with her face, knocking her back. She tasted blood still, but she could tell it was hers. It tasted sweet and copper, hot and painful. She reached up a trembling hand to her face and touched her lip, which had been cut on her teeth. The blood was from their. But something had hit her in the head, or she wouldn't have had the urge to barf up her lunch.

"Sadie!" Danni cried, and lunged forward, only to be grabbed by Crystal and hauled back against the wall. The brunette glared at the blond, but saw her eyes burning like witch oil, violet fire, indigo hell, and realized now was so not the time to fight with Crystal about anything unless you wanted to be in pain. Danni looked around frantically, certain that Bruce or Alfred or someone would arrive and-

"Hell hath no fury like a woman," a strange voice called, and everything stilled. Danni turned and saw a man covered in chalk white grease paint, with a slashing, bleeding red mouth from ear to ear, and eyes set deep in coal black sockets smudged with makeup. In his hands he held a single knife, glittering in the stage lights.

Something in Danni cringed, but that part of her that always told her to stop being a coward and just kill her enemies already leapt forward into her mind.

Crystal felt the ice in her melt away, replaced by boiling rage and hate. The Good Child screamed, _That's him! That's him!_

Sadie glanced up from her position on the floor and felt something stir in her chest, fluttering like a palpitating heartbeat. It was the man who'd saved her from the bank, the man who'd blown her tormentor to hell and then poisoned him with something noxious and yellow.

Rose blinked, her focus on what she was about to do to the men holding her sisters and her friend, but she had enough self-awareness to be able to say, "Hello, Joker."

"Hello, pretty lady. Can I play?"

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**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 8:** _She had to admit, she had no idea whatsoever about this "Him," whoever it was that her friend was talking about. But something in her stirred, a little whisper of interest, a murmur. Something no more substantial than vapor breathed against her insides when Maggie said "Him." Who did she mean? There was something there, something important. It hissed against Rachel's bones, wormed its way silently through her veins along the course of her blood until it trailed a soft fingertip over her heart._

**Chapter 9:** _Rose smiled and, taking a page out of Crystal's book, slammed her head into the jerk's nose. She could feel the appendage crumble and give beneath the crushing impact of her skull, could feel blood spurting out of his nostrils and soaking her hair, leaving it sticky and wet with scarlet._

**Chapter 10:** _She struggled against the sensation of falling, fought it, screamed silently at it, and knew she was being pulled inexorably downward, into other worlds, twisted and mad realities, lunatic psychic reservoirs she'd never dared to wander before. The Good Child began wailing in the back of her mind, and for the first time since she could remember, it echoed her own fear..._

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_Okay, there you go. The initial meeting between all four girls (minus Rachel) and the Joker._

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Disclaimer: I don't own Joker, Batman, the DC Universe, etc. And this song _(Cell Block Tango)_ is directly and accurately quoted from the musical _Chicago._ The song _Cell Block Tango_ is about six women who supposedly murdered their husbands/boyfriends. I figured it would be a good backdrop for the girls' first show viewed by the Joker. After all, murder, poison... what's not to like?

Thanks much to my wonderful reviewers: **alys98, Queen of All Canines, sugar coated bullets, Lord Dragon Claw** (call me, you bum!), **LoveBuggy, Gamine Madcap, Leelu's skittles, redjackpirate, E Kelly, that one girl, and Kendra Luehr**! I love you all! And Alys98 and Kendra, you guys need to update!! Argh!! I need my fic-crack!


	8. 08 Substantial As Vapor

_**Disclaimer: This chapter is a bitshorter than the others, because the action focus on only two people right now, and I've been neglecting Rachel, and I don't want anyone forgetting about her****. Or me to forget about her. Plus, I'm giving Rachel her own interesting, tormented backstory. Yay. D**_

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**Chapter Eight**

**Substantial As Vapor**

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The minute the shots rang out, she had a struggle on her hands. Maggie lunged forward, fighting against Rachel's grip. The ice eyes slashes at Rachel, cut at her like shards of glass, and Maggie shrieked and howled, desperate to get away from the ADA's masterful hold. The brunette woman struggled to contain the other, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut with the effort. Now was not the time to lose control, didn't Maggie see that? How many times had she tried to tell her? How many times had she been forced to show her?! Rachel clung harder to the angry woman who kicked and clawed at her, trying to escape. If Maggie went towards whatever gun battle was going to take place, then Rachel would be forced to follow and they would both get shot, probably killed.

"Game over, Mags, don't you get it?!" Rachel screamed at her. "Come on, let's go!" There was a man leveling a gun at them, Rachel could see it from the corner of her eye. They needed to get the hell out of there, _now_!

"I want to see him!"

"See who?!" Rachel demanded, scanning the theatre. Where was Bruce? Was he suiting up to be Batman? Where was anyone? Had everyone left?

Then she spotted Rose on the stage, being manhandled by a handful of muscle-bound morons who, if Rachel's intuition was correct, worked for the Mob. Crystal was on stage screaming, hurling out every profane word in her vocabulary- an extensive list. Sadie was standing stock still, backing away from the man advancing on her, who was backing her into the waiting trap of another mob goon. Danni went reeling from a punch to the face. In the front row, a man in a purple suit with stringy, greasy hair watched it all without moving.

The ADA grimaced at the way the young woman hit the floor with a resounding smack, the air shoved out of her body with a loud "ugh!" But unfortunately, Miss Dawes didn't have time to focus her sympathy on the four women on stage when she heard the click of a jammed gun. Glancing over at the man who'd had his gun leveled at her and Maggie, she saw the look of irritation on his face and realized his gun had misfired. Didn't these morons know how to take care of their weapons?

"He's here and I wanna see him!" Maggie shrieked, reminding Rachel both that she had another problem on her hands and that she was certain she wasn't yet ready for motherhood. If her children threw tantrums like this, she'd smash their little heads into the pavement without thinking twice.

"Quit acting like a spoiled brat, and let's **_go_**!" Rachel snarled, and forcibly, bodily, hauled Maggie from their place hiding behind the row near the exit. As soon as they broke cover, a shot rang out, puncturing the wood overhead. Maggie yelled, rage pulsing in her voice. Rachel wondered when it had become a good idea to split her resources like this. Without Maggie, there was no way the Assistant DA could've made it to where she was now. Too often, she would've lost her temper or screamed or attacked someone. That was why she had Maggie, who stopped her from doing those kinds of things.

It just was a problem when the ice-eyed woman lost her temper, because then all hell broke lose, and Rachel didn't really have time to fight her and get them out of there. One required the whole of her focus.

She barreled through the theatre exit door, ignoring Maggie's protests that they go back, that they fight them like men, that they kick some ass so that the next time someone got the idea to shoot at them, they changed their minds. Rachel sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of her mouth as she and Maggie raced through the hallway and ducked into an empty dressing room. The door sported a huge crack down the middle. The wood was slightly warped, as if it had been struck by a gigantic hammer. Ignoring that, Rachel slammed the door shut and slapped Maggie as hard as she could.

"Are you _insane_?"

"You're asking _me_ that, Rachel?" Maggie asked dryly, as if she hadn't just been hit with the smack down. The woman yawned, and leaned against the brunette, who sighed, allowing her body to relax. No one was shooting at them now, no one knew they were there. It should be all right. Shouldn't it? Maggie went on, sounding sleepy, "You should've let me take them on. What's a bullet? Hmmm?"

"Why are you only a pain in the ass when I'm in danger?" Rachel managed to gasp out, turning to the woman next to her, who dropped her head onto Rachel's shoulder.

"That's my job," Maggie whispered. Her voice sounded breathy, soft, insubstantial. Her weight against Rachel was like feathers or snowflakes. "By the way, you forgot to take your meds," the other woman added, snuggling against the sleeve of Rachel's black cashmere sweater. "You know what Dr. Jones said about that."

"Shit, I did?"

"Yeah," Maggie replied, then added, "Rachel, why did you stop me from attacking that jerk with the shotgun?"

"I didn't want to die tonight," she answered wryly, trying to calm her racing heart. She needed to hit the gym, she was getting out of shape. Maggie wasn't even breathing hard. She was just tired. Rachel could feel the exhaustion beating at her from where she sat against her, nodding off even as she tried to focus on Rachel's answer. "I may have missed my meds, but that sure as hell doesn't mean I've lost all of my marbles, I promise. Sorry, Mags."

"No problem... but you should've let me see Him."

Since there was only the sound of their whispers and the thunder of Rachel's heart, she could hear the capital letter of the word "Him" in Maggie's voice this time. She had to admit, she had no idea whatsoever about this "Him," whoever it was that her friend was talking about. But something in her stirred, a little whisper of interest, a murmur. Something no more substantial than vapor breathed against her insides when Maggie said "Him." Who did she mean? There was something there, something important. It hissed against Rachel's bones, wormed its way silently through her veins along the course of her blood until it trailed a soft fingertip over her heart.

"Who?" Rachel whispered.

Maggie looked at her, and those ice eyes leeched away all the warmth in her body, until the lawyer shivered and goosebumps poked up on her skin beneath the softness of her thick, supposedly warm sweater. There was a frigid knowledge in those eyes, something that Rachel knew instinctively, down to her marrow, but refused to acknowledge, refused to take a closer look at. It was the reason her mind had created the entity known as Maggie in the first place- so she wouldn't have to look at and acknowledge the things her mind didn't want to see.

"You know who. The one we've been waiting for."

"No," Rachel replied instantly, shaking her head. "No. No, Maggie. He can't be here. He can't be, you know he can't. If he's here, than you and I are dead. He'll never forgive us for betraying him." Rachel almost got to her feet, but suddenly her bones ached and she felt so world weary she just sank back to the ground, sighing. She let her head drop down into her hands, trying to ignore the way her heart began thumping harder than ever in her chest. It was impossible, totally impossible that... no. It couldn't be.

"You know it's him, Rachel," Maggie whispered, leaning in, her breath cool against Rachel's ear. The brunette turned to the dark haired woman beside her, so real and yet... She shook her head, denial. It couldn't be. It couldn't be the one person she'd hoped never to see again in her life. How long had it been? How long since she'd been in the arms of a sociopath?

"It's not-"

"It is!" Maggie insisted. Her voice was like ice. "Say his name, Rachel."

"No," she mumbled, shuddering. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, she thought suddenly, wildly, her eyes burning with unshed tears as she kept repeating over and over again, a mantra, "No, no, no, no." The wall at her back was icy cold, so cold it burned, and she shook. Maggie's icy blue eyes, burning with some satanic emotion, scorched her.

"Say it, Rachel!"

_**"No!"**_ Rachel began, when the door to the dressing room flew open, and she screamed before her eyes and her mind could place the face of the man looming over her, who dropped to one knee and enfolded her in his arms.

It was Bruce. Just Bruce. Not the Mob, not the cops, not Batman in his mask that hid her oldest friend from her eyes. It was just Bruce, billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne, her dark defender, her pillar of strength. Just Bruce. And in his presence, the dark haired woman with the secrets Rachel never wanted to remember had vanished, substantial as vapor.

Maggie was gone.

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**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 9:** _Crystal grinned as blood spurted upwards and hit her in the face. Even while she was hacking the bastard up, he was trying to fight back against the fact that every time she brought her fist down, her pocket knife sank into his body until the hilt slammed into his stomach. She could feel her ice melting as the blood sprayed up with every thrust._

**Chapter 10:** _He let his head fall back against the seat, ignoring the way Crystal was slowly edging toward him. This wasn't like before, with the knife Rose had been trying to get off of him. This was different. She wanted to be inside his head. She wanted to slip into his mind, slide into black fires, and fall asleep, cradled in their chaotic blaze. But he just wanted to hear her talk about killing. When she said "wet" he saw... so many things. Body parts. Entrails. Brains. Blood clots. Rotting corpses._

**Chapter 11:** _He was surprised- and dissappointed- that they'd made it up the three flights of stairs without being seen. Where was the fun in that? If someone saw them, he'd have an excuse to play Carve the Jack-O-Lantern four months early!_

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_Thank you to my lovely and wonderful, awesome reviewers: **Alys98, Pucktofaerie, my-echo**, and **Lord Dragon Claw** (my fiance, as it happens). I love your guys' tender affections. Hugs!_

_Also, pictures! If you want pics for this fic, go here: morelinde. livejournal. com /32181. html (remove spaces)_

_I told you, ALL of my MCs have their version of the Dark Passenger. So, what do you think?_


	9. 09 Tooth and Claw

**WARNING- people die, horribly, in this chapter. A few people die. No main characters, but it's brutal. Just a warning. And some use of the F and D word.**

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**Chapter Nine**

**Tooth and Claw**

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"Hello, pretty lady," Joker murmured. The diabolical snap of his voice gave Danni violent shivers, but he wasn't talking to her. He wasn't even looking at her. He only had eyes for blank, glassy eyed, murderous Rose and the jerk crushing her to his chest. The painted man grinned, flashing his noxious yellow teeth, and almost snarled, "Can I play?" There was something darkly gleeful in that request. The words were so childish and yet so... demonic. So vicious. Hell burned in the clown's midnight eyes, and Danni shuddered, feeling something deep inside her lift its head and make a small noise of question, a curious kitten sound. It was almost as if whatever phantom danced behind the Joker's eyes was inviting her inner beast to come out and play. The brunette shuddered again, harder, and Crystal gave her a sympathetic look. As if the blonde woman _knew_. As if she understood. But... how could she...

"Sure, Joker," Rose whispered. She could feel the moron shackling her with his arms stiffen, as if she'd told him that he was going to be forced to French kiss a hooded, gleaming fanged cobra. The older woman grinned, baring her gleaming teeth, so stark white against the blood red lips. The Dark Passenger's tenebrous anticipation gave them an added luster, like steel knives. "Sure," she repeated, and her voice held the undercurrent of a growl. "Come and play."

Part of Rose was screaming. It shuddered at the idea of being touched by any man, especially a member- even if that member was just a grunt- of the Mob. A little piece of that shuddering part was also running around in circles, panicking, screaming its head off at the idea of the Joker coming towards them, doing a childlike little skip-hop as he mumbled, "Da-dee-dum! Da-dee-dum!" His hair bounced, gleaming chrome green in the light of the stage. He had a soft smile on his face, twisted by the slashing, scarlet smile painted there. But the rest of Rose, the part of her that snarled for survival, that called to the three women she loved most to stand up and let loose, just grinned, waiting for the fun to begin. Screw trying a mind rape- all that would probably get her were some antsy idiots with guns and a reaction headache. Ah, the pitfalls of psychic ability. It wasn't really good for anything excet knowing when someone wanted to hurt you.

_Are we going to fight?_ The Dark Passenger demanded as it pulled itself out of its little pool of hot blood. The crimson liquid poured off of its skin, staining the ivory complexion with splotches of scarlet. Rose grinned, replying, _Yes. Let him make the first move, though. We don't want to break the rules, now, do we?_

_What about Crystal? _The Passenger snapped, trying to get Rose to look around, scan the theatre, focus on something other than the Joker coming slowly towards her, almost as if he were stalking her.

But the redhead didn't need to look at her sister to know just what she was doing. She was waiting. A stupid person might think she was trying to hide, to hold completely still until the predator passed by, unknowing that she was hiding there, quivering with fear. A stupid person could think that. But an intelligent person who knew a predator when they saw one would know that it was the exact opposite. Here was a hunter, golden silk garrotte wires and violet glass knives, bloody teeth and waiting claws, ready to carve out someone's heart- and the rest of their vital organs- and roll around in them like a kitten with catnip.

_And what about Sadie?_

Rose ignored the irritating berserker in her head, watching as the clown put one foot in front of the other. Her heart pounded, her blood rushing through her ears like the tide, calling... calling. She needed to focus on the Joker. If she didn't focus on something, someone, that tidal pull would suck her under like a wave and she would go mad. Maybe for a few minutes, until there was no one else to butcher. Maybe for a few days, until a cop shot her, put her down like a rabid dog. Maybe for forever, for the rest of her life. She couldn't just slide into the scarlet in her mind, not now. She couldn't go mad now, not yet.

Sadie gave a small cough, and Rose blinked. Sadie was still on the ground, she realized, when her youngest sister groaned. What had they done to her? She must have missed whatever had happened to Sadie, but the pain and gentle irritation sparking off of her was enough to tell Rose that if things didn't get resolved soon, Sadie was going to be a problem.

She did a quick mental check on the other two.

Crystal... as soon as she got within breathing distance of Crystal's mind, she immediately backed off. She couldn't afford to get a case of brain freeze just so she could make sure the blond woman wasn't contemplating mass murder.

And Danni... touching Danni's mind was like opening the door to a homicidal six-year-old's surprise birthday party. It gave her a headache. Excitement, anger, mad joy, black hate, the entire rainbow spectrum of emotions. And the icing on the cake: at the core of that pathological maelstrom was a sphere of blankness, with barely sheathed claws, barely covered teeth. Leonine, predatory blankness, animal fury, feline curiosity for the pain of the prey. And the sphere was getting bigger and bigger, the teeth coming out, the claws unsheathing.

"Hey, I know you," the idiot holding Rose suddenly cried. "You're that _freak._"

Something more painful than hatred slammed into Danni, something that made her stomach twist and her skin crawl even as her eyes blazed. It was too primal, too primitive, to be hatred. It was electric hell, broiling death, chaotic torture. And it was centered around the man in the face paint. The tiny undercurrents of rage and shock weren't coming from him, though.

Each of the four women had been, on several occassions, called freaks by their "masters." They hated that word. _Danni_ hated that word. So she was a freak? So she had problems? Even though the freaking mob bosses were so messed up, Carmine Falcone- her old owner- had ended up in Arkham Asylum screaming about some guy called the Scarecrow? Yet she and her sisters were considered freaks. The Joker, because he wore face paint to make himself look like a clown, was called a freak? What about the Scarecrow? He wore a freaking burlap bag over his head! What about Batman? He dressed up like a flying rodent! And yet Danni had heard the word freak branded into her mind every day for her entire life... because she knew things, somehow. Because Crystal could read minds. Because Rose could sense others' emotions. Because Sadie... well, no one really wanted to consider what Sadie could do when pressed. They were _freaks._

The beast inside her roared. Like racing up a tunnel from the very back bottom of her subconscious to the fore front of her mind, snarling and slavering, something slammed into her body with the force of a hurricane. She sank her teeth into her lip, tasting lipstick and blood. Her hands bunched into fists, white knuckled as she tried to get herself under control. Leave it to everyone on their shit list to pick up on her buzz word- freak.

"You are so stupid," Danni hissed. Her fingertips began to tingle, and her nose twitched.

Crystal thought for just a moment about hauling Danni back when she began stalking towards the goon with their fearless leader in his arms, but when the Good Child squeaked in fear at the thought of touching the petite brunette woman, Crystal thought better of it. Danni was sliding into the zone. Not just the zone, but The Zone. The older blonde bared her teeth in a chilling smile, her eyes hardening to violet ice chips. Well, if Danni was in her little static zone, ready for slaughter, then maybe she should get into the sanguine spirit of things, too. But Sadie... was she going to join in the game or was she still on the floor?

Sadie spat blood onto the stage, apologizing silently to her favorite place- the stage of the Queen of Swords- and tried getting to her feet, ignoring the throbbing nausea pulling at her. She didn't barf- the taste would be awful. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to ignore the insidious suggestions in her head about what she ought to do to the jerk who'd kicked her in the freaking face. She could feel her eye swelling, aching, and she knew that fairly soon, she wouldn't need makeup to give herself purple eyelids. But she could ignore that right now, too. Instead, she focused on the Joker, who stood watching them all with a casual air that she wasn't quite sure he was faking.

_That bum has your eyeshadow on his boot heel,_ one of the Whisperers hissed. Sadie glanced at said bum, and saw a swatch of glittering violet powder on the black boot. She bit her cheek harder, tasting blood, as the Whisperers muttered, _He ruined your makeup. You spent so much time working on your face, and with one kick he ruined everything._

Maybe it was pathetic that she cared so much about her makeup, but it was part of what she was as a performer. It was her mask, that makeup, combined with her clothes, her jewelry, and her shoes. And these mob jerks had come in and broken up the show, interrupting her turn at the microphone. She was the main star of the song, dammit!

"A freak?" Joker asked, still smiling. "I don't think these lovely ladies like that word. Do you, pretty lady?" He added, and winked one dark eye at Rose. She knew the sign: _go ahead and make your move_.

Rose smiled and, taking a page out of Crystal's book, slammed her head into the jerk's nose. She could feel the appendage crumble and give beneath the crushing impact of her skull, could feel blood spurting out of his nostrils and soaking her hair, leaving it sticky and wet with scarlet. Snarling, she twisted and writhed in the guy's arms until she slipped out of his slowly weakening grip. She hit the floor on her knees, and pain shot up her thighs and down her calves. The Dark Passenger screamed in outrage at being injured, and before she realized what she was doing, Rose was swinging her leg around so that the hard, wooden, nail-studded heel of her character shoe slammed into the mob goon's knee cab. She felt more than heard the vicious crack

He fell to the floor, howling about his broken nose and his broken knee, and she was on him immediately, slamming her fists into his face. She was snarling, screaming, unintellible words pouring out of her mouth in a flood of burning rage. How dare he touch her? How dare he come here?! How dare he treat her this way? Who the fuck did he think he was? Who did he think _she_ was? Her hands ached, and her elbows were starting to hurt from the constant bending.

_Suck it up!_ The Dark Passenger snapped, but she could taste its savage grin. _You do worse than this during rehearsal! Come on, suck it up! Don't stop! Keep it up!_

Her face hurt where the guy kept hitting her, but every blow was weaker than the last, until it was like being hit by a feather. It didn't matter, she had to make this jerk understand why there was going to be punishment. What was his deal, anyway? Mob goons always thought they could get away with everything! But seriously! She snarled to herself, baring her teeth in a rictus grin. She tasted blood.

The Dark Passenger squealed in delight.

Seriously! Did he really think he could just waltz in here and mess up her evening and not suffer any consequences? Didn't he understand what was going on here? Didn't he get how important the fucking show was, dammit?! Why was everyone so fucking desperate to get themselves on her bad side? Did they want her to lose her temper? Did they _want_ her to explode on them? Is this what they wanted? Was it? _Was it?!_ _**WAS IT?!**_

She was screaming the question over and over again and hadn't realized it. Her fists were bruising now, turning pale blue beneath the scarlet splatter. The man beneath her wasn't moving anymore. The Dark Passenger giggled in the back of her mind as she stopped, suddenly, realizing that she wasn't being hit anymore. She sat back, resting her butt on the guy's stomach, and stared at the pulpy mess that had been the guy's face. She could see bone fragments in that meaty slop, and the liquid pink and gray of mashed brain. No wonder her knuckles were stinging so badly. One finger throbbed insistantly, telling her she'd dislocated the first knuckle of her middle finger. There was blood, ragged bits of flesh, and white gelatinous gloppage that might have been eyeball under her nails.

"Holy shit..." Someone moaned.

Rose's head jerked up, in the direction of that terrified sound. It was one of the goons, the one who'd kicked Sadie in the face. He was staring at Rose like a child terrified of the monsters, a child who knew that this person in front of him was the biggest, baddest, most ferocious monster there was.

She smiled at him, and his gray pants went dark with urine. He slid to the floor, whimpering. He fumbled for the gun he was supposed to have inside his jacket.

Sadie scuttled over to him, a little white and black spider with beast eyes framed in violet electricity, and her teeth sank into his arm. She couldn't get her teeth through the thick material of the coat, but it distracted him from the gun, and instead he tried, almost feebly, to push her away.

She didn't let him.

Instead, being the incredible acrobat she was, she immediately wrapped her legs around his torso and one arm around his throat, cutting off his air. He gasped- or tried to- and gagged, choking, beating at her arm. She thought idly that she'd have bruises later, but right now she would simply focus on hanging on while watching Crystal and Danni launch themselves into action. Danni went to Sadie, and Crystal went after the jerk who'd

The Joker grinned where he stood, holding the bleeding corpse of one of the goons. His knife was wet with blood. He began laughing. Who would've thought this would've been so much fun? Blood, violence, gore, terror, chaos. And those women!

Still smiling, giggling to himself, he skipped his way up to wear Rose sat on her victim, staring at the hamburger she'd made of the moron's face. When his shoes clacked on the stage right beside her, she stared up at him, and grinned. Gesturing to the corpse, she asked softly, "Do you approve?"

That absinthe-from-hell look was back in her eyes, heady, intoxicating. Joker felt almost drunk, staring into those eyes. He couldn't decide which was more gorgeous- the demented fury in her gaze or the bloody mess that had once been a goon from the mob. Did he approve? Did he approve of a woman slicked up past her wrists with blood, hair wet with the stuff, eyes wild, face spattered with it? He saw blood drip in a tiny trail down her chin and realized she must have bit her lip while she was killing the muscle man. From what he'd seen before she'd started beating him, she'd slammed the bones of his nose up into his brain. It would explain the ease with which she'd taken him out.

Yes, he approved. Oh, yes. If only something would blow up...

"What is she _doing_?" He asked instead of answering her. He was watching Crystal pound on one of the guys' stomachs. It was the guy whose nose she'd broken, who'd tried to crawl away from her. Every time she slammed her fist down onto his gut, he spasmed. His shirt, once pristine and snowy white, was now stained with blood. The stains were growing.

"Prepping him. Eventually, she'll get around to gutting him," Rose replied, smiling still. She felt oddly detached, and strangely relaxed. Shouldn't she still be in a panic about being grabbed? About the Joker's presence? Shouldn't she be more concerned about the fact that she'd dislocated a finger? Shouldn't she care that she'd murdered someone?

_Self defense,_ the Dark Passenger hissed, grinning. Rose found her lips stretching and twisting into an answering smile. _Someone like that, you hurt till they're dead. You know that. And if you want proof you're not a monster, look at Crystal._

Crystal grinned as blood spurted upwards and hit her in the face. Even while she was hacking the bastard up, he was trying to fight back against the fact that every time she brought her fist down, her pocket knife sank into his body until the hilt slammed into his stomach. She could feel her ice melting as the blood sprayed up with every thrust. Her sisters knew to leave her alone, knew what was coming. Her entire body shook and shuddered, quivering with the adrenaline and hatred suffusing every cell of her body.

"Try to touch me!" She shrieked, slamming the blade in so deep the flesh tore against the handle of her pocket knife. Her eyes burned like indigo hell and her flesh burned, burned to destroy, devour, decimate, decapitate. Something, anything, as long as there was blood and pain! She snarled, "Try to kidnap me!" She stabbed in and hauled on the knife, slicing open the belly from sternum to pelvis. Her victim- her enemy, she snarled inwardly- screamed weakly as blood poured and steel sliced. "Your friend kicked my sister, you fucker!" She added, voice twisting viciously as hacked at her inelegant incision, widening it until she could stop with the knife and use her hands. Reaching into the body, plunging her hands in until she was bloody up to the elbows, ignoring the crimson staining her favorite tux shirt and the blood oozing out to contaminate her hair, she grabbed something squishy, pulpy, wet, raw, and ripped it out. The mob goon under her tender hand screamed once more and went still. She briefly wondered if she'd grabbed his appendix or his spleen or what, and then went back to ripping out the slippery, sanguine internal organs. Every so often, she'd snarl some obscenity.

Danni and Sadie waited patiently for Crystal to finish, staring at the man who, in life, had kicked Sadie in the face. Sadie could feel the lip swelling, still bleeding. Her face was starting to swell, too. Danni was cleaning the blood off of her hands on their victim's shirt. She didn't want to think about what she'd done to the jerk right now- ripping out his tongue, puncturing his eardrums with her fingernails, destroying his eyeballs with a couple of well placed thumb thrusts, crushing his testicles, biting through to his carotid artery. That was deliciously private. She'd think about it later.

_You and I are very well adjusted, aren't we?_ Her inner blankness whispered. _Everyone else is so ill at ease with their inner demons._

_Not that guy,_ Danni contradicted, indicating the Joker slitting a man's throat who'd tried to rip out a chunk of Rose's hair. _He has no issues with his inner demons._

_He _is_ his own inner demon, Danni. He's nuts. Do you think Crystal's done?_

Shrugging, the brunette helped a wobbly Sadie to her feet. The world swam for a moment, and she was sure, again, that she had a concussion. Supporting the quiet girl, they trudged over to where Rose sat on the stage, watching Crystal as she finished with the organs and began sliced up the face, panting and snarling, almost screaming with her fury. She looked like she would melt into a puddle of blood, her hair flying everywhere, scarlet staining her clothes, crimson smeared on her cheeks.

Then, as if someone had thrown a switch, Crystal stopped. She smiled. Wiped some blood off of her cheek on her sleeve. Got to her feet and practically skipped over to everyone else. "We should get out of here before the cops come," she said cheerily. Rose got to her feet, and asked, "Do you feel better now?" Crystal nodded happily, sighing as if relieved, and repeated, "Cops coming."

"We go out the back," Joker ordered. That was how Rose had smuggled him in, after all. Surely they knew how to escape such a familiar building. But the three women who were with Rose jerked their heads around to stare at him, hostility and hatred warring in their eyes. He could see the hatred, the fire, and had to fight not to smile. The painted man only looked at the absinthe-eyed redhead, still spattered with beautiful blood, and she said calmly, "We won't get picked up by the cops that way. Come on, let's get clothes. We can change on the move."

"Why change?" Danni asked, as they all hurried backstage. She loved how Rose could be so furiously angry one minute and so incredibly calm the next. It was awesome, and it was useful. Like now.

"We're covered in blood," Rose said dryly. "We look like homicidal hookers."

"Well dressed homicidal hookers," Crystal said icily, but she was smiling. They made it to Crystal's dressing room- the one place you'd have to have a severe and ever present death wish to break into to pull any pranks. Hence why the Damundo sisters and Danni kept their spare clothes in here. "We change, then what?"

"Home," Rose said.

They all stopped in their tracks. The three other women were thinking the same thing, but it was Crystal who said it: "We're taking this guy _home_ with us?"

"He helped us," Rose reminded her. "He took out two of those jerks."

_Not for us, he didn't,_ Crystal hissed in her older sister's mind. _He did it because he likes to kill things._

_Doesn't matter,_ Rose replied. _Trust me, Crys. He's going to help us._

_Help us what? Get away with murder?_

_Among other things,_ she said, and grabbed a spare undershirt, bra, and pants, as well as her white tennis shoes. She didn't really think any cops would check her underwear for blood spatter right now- not that she had any on there- but her bra was starting to dig into her ribs and it _hurt._ Ignoring the shivers now running up and down her body, trying to ignore the sudden chill to her skin and the room, she added, _I don't know _how_ I know this, but you have to trust me. We all need him. All four of us. He's like us._

_Yeah, except unlike the rest of us, he has no control._

_Not true, Crys. You know that, you saw what I saw- him and Gamble. You think he didn't want to do something about that? Like we all do? Look, you gotta trust me._

_Yes, O Fearless Leader,_ the blond woman muttered sarcastically. Aloud, she added to Sadie and Danni, "So, apparently, we're gonna keep the clown."

"Oh, goodie," Joker murmured, leering. So they were going to keep him, were they? Take him to their inner sanctum, their home turf? Were they worried that he might snap in the night and kill them? Or did they think he would protect them from the Mob? Why keep a madman like him around, after all? Especially since Rose knew he'd offered himself as a dog for that very same Mob? What games were these gorgeous psychopaths playing?

And when, he wondered vaguely, watching them scurry about like carnivorous insects, were they going to jump in and play his little games?

Then movement, somewhere in the building. Doors slamming open, and the call of "Police!" Rose stiffened, and bit her lip right where it hurt the most. They were here already? Cursing under her breath, she dropped her spare clothes, ordering her sisters to do the same, and snapped, "Now, come on! Let's go!"

"But, homicidal hookers!" Danni cried.

"We'll huddle on the floor of the backseat until we get home, now come on! Before we get busted! Come on!"

So they ran, and found themselves a huddled, bloody, shivering mass of exhausted women on the back seat floor of Joker's Mercedes, staring up at the Joker as they glided through the Gotham City night.

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**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 10:** _Her eyes darkened until they were almost black, midnight violet like a drug. Soothing the nerves, calming the fire just a little. Valium gaze. Opium eyes. Helping him think, helping him focus. Crystalizing his thoughts into jagged, diamond ideas and impulses. His synapses fizzed and crackled as everything clarified, transparent razor blade sharpness. _And what are you?

**Chapter 11: **_She twisted the key, and something like ice stabbed into her belly. She caught her breath in her throat and her bottom lip between the pearl trap of her teeth. It wasn't a blade, the silken steel slicing through her._

**Chapter 12:** _Sadie never made a sound the entire time he stitched her bleeding rosebud mouth. Didn't she feel it? The needle stabbing into her lips? The wire thread sliding against raw, open wounds? Didn't she feel the stinging, burning, throbbing? But all she did was stare at him, golden eyes blazing._

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_Disclaimer: I don't own anything you don't recognize. Tooth and Claw is the title of an episode from the Batman animated series from the 90s._

_Sorry that took so long. I got up late yesterday and missed my computer window. I had like, 1/2 an hour. I don't type that fast. So, here ya go. Latest chapter. I'm not sure about it, but I'm trying to keep the Joker more of a mystery now, since I've read so many great fanfics where, one of the reasons they're great is cuz you have NO idea what the Joker is thinking. Case en pointe, _**Saviors and Hellion Smiles**_ by **Harlequin Sequins**. I love her, she awesome! So Joker POV is from now on a little more reduced. Just FYI. _

_Reviews? Pwease?_

Thank you, my awesome reviewers: **Lord Dragon Claw** (I love you), **Gamine Madcap, Hayly Baby**, and **Alys98**. Also, thanks to my current favorite authors: **Alys98, Kendra**, and **Harlequin Sequins**. You guys are such an inspiration. D


	10. 10 Crystaline Car Ride

**Chapter Ten**

**Crystaline Car Ride**

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Crystal really wanted a shower.

Her skin itched. Thick, black paste-like gunk made her fingernails ache. Her hands were caked with blood so that no cracks showed through to the skin, her arms splashed black with it, and chunks of gore had dried to her flesh. It itched like crazy, little insect legs crawling up and down her arms, from fingertip to mid-upper arm. The sleeves of her tux shirt were stiff, like crackers, dark maroon as the blood began to dry. Her white undershirt was nearly spotless, having been covered up by her tux-shirt and black undershirt. She peeled off the two outer layers, like peeling the backing off of Sesame Street stickers from hell. Her hair was strung out and tacky with the drying bodily fluids. She had a burn on the inside of her wrist where she'd been splashed by some stomach acids.

Yeah. A shower would be good.

_We did a bad thing,_ the Good Child whimpered softly. _Why did you make us do it?_

_It was gorgeous,_ Crystal growled, baring mental teeth that gleamed and sparked like electric needles. Didn't the little goody-goody get it? That guy had so deserved it! He worked for the freaking Mob, the slave masters that had ruined the Damundo sisters' lives. He'd been a murderer and a thug- she'd seen it in his thoughts. He deserved everything she'd given him and more. Unfortunately, they never lived long enough to reach that state of "more." They always died after they lost the first or second internal meat blob. If she'd had more time, she probably could've made it more painful, once she'd had the chance to calm down. But the freak had grabbed her! His hands had been _everywhere!_ He deserved it.

_He deserved it,_ she thought at her conscience, who trembled in the back of her mind, sick with the sociopathic monster it lived within. Crystal grinned in real life this time, and her sisters noticed a feral, hateful glint in her eye.

_You can't hate everyone,_ the Good Child whispered.

_Yes, I can._

Turning away from this totally unimportant conversation with herself, she tried to take a swipe at her cheek, where a piece of what might have been liver stuck to the prominent cheek bone, but her arm ached so badly she didn't really want to move it. She just wanted to sit there, on the floor of the Mercedes, relearning how to breath, rebuilding the ice castles in her mind, and enjoying the first relaxation she'd had in a long time.

All of them were covered in something: the bloody by-products of their unnatural urges, the scarlet slimes of their lunatic lusts. All a fancy way of saying they were all splashed all over with drying, brown and maroon blood. Rose even had pieces of gray and pink brain gel in her hair. Crystal could tell from the way she kept running her fingers through her blood auburn locks that she didn't like that. The redhead kept sucking her lips between her top and bottom teeth.

Danni had managed to wipe off a considerable amount of slime on her victim's shirt, but she still had pieces of white, gelatinous eyeball under her thumbnails. Her usually pearl white teeth were stained, as if she'd been an undead extra in a vampire movie, and her chin was still smeared with traces of unlicked away scarlet.

Sadie was relatively clean, except for the line of bright ruby down her snowy white shirt front. It wasn't from what she'd done to any of the mob's men- her lip was still bleeding. She couldn't get it to stop. She'd tried by blotting it with her shirt sleeve, and only succeeded in turning the ivory fabric a vibrant shade of vermillion. Her lip would probably need stitches, and if there was one place Sadie would not go, it was a hospital. She only willingly went into cars, the Queen of Swords, their boss's homes- they were _always_ safe there, Bruce would _never _let anything happen to them- and her own apartment that she shared with her sisters and her best friend. Hospitals always reminded her of when she was a kid, and she never wanted to think about that.

Ever.

_Maybe it would do you all good to talk about it,_ the Good Child whispered timidly, as if waiting for Crystal to lash out, lunge for it and stab it to death, hack it up like a slab of meat, a piece of roadkill. The way she had the mob goon. The way she wanted to do to the sweet, gentle inner voice in her mind that always gave her pieces of unwanted advice. But how did you kill something that was an intricate, vital piece of you? So all the blonde woman said was, _We made a deal a long time ago. We don't talk about it. Ever. We don't think about it. Anyone who brings it up, pays in blood. So shut your mouth._

_But I just think you ought to-_

_**SHUT UP!**_

_You need music, lady,_ was all the Good Child said in response, and then it became quiet.

Crystal glanced up, and realized the darkness shrouded interior of the car was irritatingly silent. She hated not having music on in the car. Maybe the others were too shocky to care, but she wasn't. She despised silence. Glancing at the guy in the clown mask driving the car- one of the Joker's men, apparently, who'd been waiting in the car behind the theatre all night- she whispered softly in his mind, _I think I oughtta turn on the radio._

The clown creep broke her concentration by asking, "So, you ladies got names?"

"Danielle Leona Spinnelli," Danni murmured, scraping some gunk out from beneath her fingernails. She jerked her head at Sadie, who sat between Danni and the right hand back door of the Mercedes, and added, "That's Sadie Polly Damundo." The Joker gave Rose a look, and Rose added, "My youngest sister."

"What about you, Ms. Hack-And-Slash?" The clown asked the blond, who'd been trying to focus on pushing her thoughts onto the driver so he'd turn on the freaking radio. Maybe Rose was right- she did need to practice more. Hmmm. She answered, almost without thinking, "Crystal Persephone Damundo." Ignoring everyone else, she tried again: _I think I oughtta turn on the radio. It's too quiet._

"Hey, boss," the goon mumbled. He sounded drunk. "How 'bout I turn on the radio? It's too frickin' quiet."

"Too quiet?" The Joker asked softly. Crystal shivered. There was something more than ice in that voice. If hell was dark, and stygian, and arctic, than his voice was like hell as he snarled the rhetorical question. She shivered at the sound of it, and felt hate smoldering deep inside, flaring up as that cold voice whispered soft breath on its embers. She refused to be frightened by a _clown_. She wasn't afraid of anything. After all, fear implied she was concerned about what would happen to her, and she honestly couldn't give a damn.

"Yeah," she ground out into the silence that followed the painted man's question. The crook gave her a questioning look, almost innocently curious. Alice as she wandered through the kingdom of Wonderland after falling down the rabbit hole. But this was no innocent, fair haired, chubby cheeked English girl-child looking for her cat. "It's too quiet," she added. She could feel defiance blazing in her eyes. Yippee freaking skippy for her.

For an eternal second, their eyes met, and locked.

She struggled against the sensation of falling, fought it, screamed silently at it, and knew she was being pulled inexorably downward, into other worlds, twisted and mad realities, lunatic psychic reservoirs she'd never dared to wander before. The Good Child began wailing in the back of her mind, and for the first time since she could remember, it echoed her own fear as midnight forests tried to swallow her, wrapping her in ocular branches, drowning her in opthalmic leaves and pine needles. She cut herself on the sharpness of the thorns and nettles inside that gaze. The skies reflected in the hellish, verdant eyes were bleeding emerald pain inside their sockets, inside her skull. She shuddered as she caught a whiff of wet, green wood. It was like wandering inside a world of jade...

Joker stared into the eyes as they melted from glinting violet ice shards into something else. Frosted, sugared violets, sweet enough he could taste them, cold enough still that they burned him, sharp enough even now that he could taste the copper tange of blood in his mouth, a culinary delight when mixed with the vanilla taste of sugar and the glass sharpness of ice. There was a spinning vortex inside her eyes. She was caught up in it. Her entire life was a destructive natural disaster, slamming through the world like a tornado hell bent on smashing everything in sight, a purple cyclone raking across everyone around her, beating them bloody with the debris and slag and shrapnel flung up in her wake. And she didn't even know that her rage spun and twisted, driving her like a beast before the Hunt, making her wild, making her crazy. She danced, she sang, she fought, she butchered, to escape that rage but all it did was push it back a little ways, and only for a little while. She was a ticking time bomb. One day, she would explode, and take everything with her in a blonde, violet eyed, hateful version of Hurricane Katrina.

But that would only happen if he didn't intervene. And he had every intention of intervening.

_Who are you, you beautiful, psychotic mad thing? Who are you? _He thought to himself, the question dancing in his head, an imp poking at his brain with its little pitch fork.

He watched as her eyes blanked out, but it wasn't the same as Rose's alcoholic eyes. This was different, but just as intoxicating. Eyes like violets, now so dark it was like plunging the dusky twilight sky into an infernal, empty abyss. Something in her eyes made his eyes burn in their sockets. Her blank, sleeping beauty eyes were sucking him down into blissful lethargy, and that was wrong. He was frantic, spastic, jerky, anarchaic, psychotic, electric. He didn't do lethargic behavior. And yet her eyes... like opium. So calming, drugging, making him so spacy and...

_What are you?_ Her voice whispered in his mind, and it was the frigid chill of winter's kiss right before your marrow crystalizes in your bones. Every thought in his head suddenly sharpened, and he realized she was speaking right inside his brain. Well, what did ya know?

_Anyone and no one,_ he snarled at her, and he could see the way she jumped, as if she'd been shocked. Her pulse jumped in her throat. A crack in the glacial ice of her armor. Her eyes darkened until they were almost black, midnight violet like a drug. Soothing the nerves, calming the fire just a little. Valium gaze. Opium eyes. Helping him think, helping him focus. Crystalizing his thoughts into jagged, diamond ideas and impulses. His synapses fizzed and crackled as everything clarified, transparent razor blade sharpness. _And what are you?_

_A diamond death,_ she breathed. Her lips were parted, and he could see the dried blood on her chin, each individual rivulet now a rust colored line from her lips to the very top of her throat. _I cut everything I touch._ That blood was beautiful. It matched the ivory smoothness of her skin and the golden silk of her hair, the indigo daggers of her eyes. It was so beautiful. Almost as brilliant as a blast of dynamite. Almost. And her words... her voice cut him in all the perfect places. He loved the knife edge kiss of that voice against his skull. And those _words!_ A diamond death who cut everything she touched. A weapon, a lunatic, a sanguine explosion waiting to happen. Perfect. Not perfect like Rose, but perfect in other ways. In her own way. Another monster to his collection.

_How deep?_ He asked, and his voice was like sulfur. She shuddered at the way his eyes cut her. She could practically feel the biting sweetness of his gaze. She couldn't stop looking at his eyes, at the insane fire behind them. They burned, they burned like magnesium phosphate, like hydrogen, like the air waves blasting from the impact of an atomic bomb.

_To the bone,_ she breathed, and she found it almost impossible to drag air into her lungs. The air between them shimmered as her mind began screaming and sobbing, moaning and shuddering, laughing and gasping. The Good Child wept. _To the very core of all that wet red meat._

_Ohhhh,_ he groaned. He didn't realize he'd groaned aloud, but Rose and the women knew why. They were shamelessly eavesdropping on what was happening. _Someone_ had to keep Crystal from losing control. _Say that again_, the clown growled.

_Wet..._

He let his head fall back against the seat, ignoring the way Crystal was slowly edging toward him. This wasn't like before, with the knife Rose had been trying to get off of him. This was different. She wanted to be inside his head. She wanted to slip into his mind, slide into black fires, and fall asleep, cradled in their chaotic blaze. But he just wanted to hear her talk about killing. When she said "wet" he saw... so many things. Body parts. Entrails. Brains. Blood clots. Rotting corpses.

_Red... _

He shuddered. Blood. He could see her in red, a red dress perhaps, but a dress that matched the shade of her skin because she was spattered, splashed, _painted_ with the scarlet blood of the hacked up, bleeding, lifeless carcasses lying in heaps of now gutless, white meat on the floor. Her heels, spiked crimson three inch heels, sinking into the bloody carpet so that squirts of scarlet shot up and left droplets on the red leather as she walked toward him, and he sank his switchblade into one of the softest parts of her and saw her blood bead along that creamy, soft looking skin.

_Meat..._

He wanted this one. He wanted this monster a lot. The things she could make him think when she whispered such viciously violent things in his head...

"We're here," Rose said loudly, breaking the connection between the clown and the blond woman. The car pulled up in front of a dinky apartment building and slowed to a halt. The driver killed the motor, and they got out. The redhead added, "Come on. Third floor." They started towards the staircase Rose indicated. For a minute, the Joker thought he saw a halo around Crystal's head when she passed underneath the amber streetlight a few feet away from their car, but it was just the golden nimbus of light reflected off of all the beautiful blond hair. The woman was no angel.

He knew that for a fact.

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**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 11: **_Holy crap, what the hell? What about a mate? Rose and the rest of the Damundo girls were destined to be single for life. That was obvious from the lack of success in the boyfriend department. What about mates? Nothing about mates, that was what. The Dark Passenger was off her freaking nut if she had any kind of romantic designs on Gotham's own killer clown._

**Chapter 12:** _Every drop of blood scalded him. It practically sizzled when it touched his cool skin. But all he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh at the incredible joke he'd walked right into. Now he saw the funny side of it all. Now he knew the truth- she was completely, totally insane._

**Chapter 13:** _Rachel popped a Valium, sighing as Maggie flopped down on her bed, lounging oh so casually. The brunette knew why the ice eyed woman was still there. She wanted to talk about the past. She wanted to talk about old friends and old flames. She wanted, in other words, to talk about Jack._

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_Pwease? Review? What happened to everyone? Where you go?_

Thank you, my awesome reviewers: My-Echo, Lord Dragon Claw (kisses), and Alys98. Also, thanks to my current favorite authors: Alys98, KatxValentine, Kendra, & Harlequin Sequins. I love your guys' stories! I read them, and then I write, and then read, write; read, write. It's one vicious cycle. D KatxValentine's probably not even reading this but who cares.


	11. 11 Domestic

**This is a shout-out to Alys98, genius among geniuses! Read her duology, "Torn" (complete) and "Torn Together." They're on my faves. Also read "Dark Side of the Moon" by KatxValentine. And, if you like Batman and Naruto, check out "the Laughing Fox" by Lord Dragon Claw. **

**Thanks to my great reviewers: the regulars- Alys98, Lord Dragon Claw, & Gamine Madcap; and ****the all new Lily Martin, Put Here 2 Feel Joy, and xxBEjrtnfTHxx. Thanks you guys!**

**Okay, on with the chapter!**

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**Chapter Eleven**

**Domestic**

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It was bizarrely domestic, or so the Joker thought, coming home with a woman. Part of what kept it from being so disgustingly bloody homey-cozy was the fact that he was coming close to entering what he was certain was the deceptively normal domicile of _four_ women spattered with _blood_. He was surprised- and dissappointed- that they'd made it up the three flights of stairs without being seen. Where was the fun in that? If someone saw them, he'd have an excuse to play Carve the Jack-O-Lantern four months early!

But no such luck.

The third floor, the top floor, was absolutely deserted. The doors of almost all seventeen of the third floor apartments were in disrepair: paint peeling in great, long, tapioca colored strips; hinges rusted straight through so that the doors hung at awkward angles; some didn't even have any doors at all. The floor of the hall was bare concrete, icy cold and glinting almost cruelly in the dim light of one bare bulb hanging from the water-stained ceiling, halfway down the hall from the top of the stairs.

The four women and the clown trudged from the edge of the stairway to the end of the hall, where two brightly painted doors stood, side by side. Each door was a mural.

On the right, a royal blue sky, lit up with stars and the moon, clouds and angels and air spirits. Below the sky, near the bottom, was the sea, full of merfolk, water sprites, and selkies. The Joker thought he even saw a humpback whale and a pod of sleek, shining dolphins. In the background, silhouetted against the great, ivory orb of the rising moon, was a ship, its prow shaped like a dragon.

On the left, a pitch black sky with crimson-edged clouds pouring bloody rain down on tormented, twisted, writhing sinners burning in hellfire. Demons and imps and harpies shoved at them with pitchforks, knives, and swords. A devil watched from a towering, obsidian throne adorned with jutting, knife sharp spires. The moon in this painting was ripe with blood, and the stars burned low and sullen, red with death.

"I like the one on the left," Joker said, pointing at the left hand door. Sadie smiled, then winced when it jerked on the still oozing laceration on her lip. She rather liked that one, too.

"Ask us if we care," Crystal muttered, voice thick with sarcasm.

She masked her shivering unease by glancing around the hallway as her older sister reached into her shirt between her size-C cleavage and pulled out the door key. The blond woman smiled grimly, shuddering when she caught the painted man look at her. She hated that, hated the way he made her feel, hated the way he made her shudder. It reminded her of a snatch of words from a song she could barely remember by an artist she didn't recognize: _the more you shake, the more you give away..._

She snarled, feeling something more than irritation begin to boil up inside her chest. It chased some of the chill in her away. She wasn't quite sure that was a good thing. She _needed_ that ice. Joker glanced at her again, saw her trembling violently. He knew the blazing light in her lavender eyes. He was getting to her. He was pushing at her buttons, and it was getting on her nerves. He could see it all, the irritation and confusion, reflected in the wine colored mirror of her eyes.

Rose slid the key into the lock, and shivered. _Someone walking over my grave,_ she thought, and for some reason, the old, rustic expression filled her with a sick sense of dread that had little to do with the man at her back or the women at her side. What _was_ that? She didn't get warnings like that. That was Danni's department. The red head bit her cheek, sucking her lips between her teeth, ignoring the creamy caustic taste of Sultry Siren Scarlet lipstick. She twisted the key, and something like ice stabbed into her belly. She caught her breath in her throat and her bottom lip between the pearl trap of her teeth. It wasn't a blade, the silken steel slicing through her. It wasn't real, the astral knife. She felt that immediately. But as she pulled the key out of the lock, that frigid stabbing sensation faded, and she managed to find her breath again.

Was there something in the apartment? No. Something that bad, she would've sensed the malicious intent before they'd made it past the top of the stairwell. There was no way something like that could have made it past her empathic senses.

But... then...

_Ace?_ Crystal whispered softly. _Ace, what's wrong?_

_Why do you only call me Ace when you're worried about me?_ She asked, exasperated.

The door eased open, and they trudged in, weariness settling over the four women like a shroud. Rose came in first, scanning the apartment with eyes, ears, and empathy. Better safe than sorry. Better to scan the apartment, make sure all was safe and secure, and abuse poor, protesting feet, than relax the guard, put feet up and ease the pressure on the blisters, and then be raped and murdered moments after walking in the door.

"All clear," she said, and moved aside so the others could come in. "Danni?"

_What makes you think I'm worried about you?_ Crystal asked in reply to the silent question, and there was a sharp-edged smile curling the corners of her Icicle Berry glossed mouth, gleaming like bubblegum frost. The icicle edge to her grin and voice thawed considerably the moment she stepped into the apartment behind Sadie.

Danni brought up the rear. The brunette cast a piercing glance around the double-sized apartment, keeping her mind as blank as she could get it. It was a talent she'd perfected, blanking her thoughts so she could pick up what things she might need to notice. Like Rose, her job was security. The two of them together were the security system.

Crystal and her gorgeous, homicidal intentions were the enforcement for the security system.

Sadie was Plan B.

Danni didn't want to think about Sadie as any kind of plan. The idea gave her the shivers.

"I call the shower!" Crystal called, and headed straight for the bathroom, to the right of the front door. As she walked, she tied up her hair in a long, golden pony tail with a thick, black scrunchie.

Watching the blond woman saunter off with sea grey eyes almost green with envy, Danni snarled half-heartedly after her and added before anyone else could think to, "I call the kitchen sink."

"Hate you," Rose muttered, peeling off her sweaty, red-splashed tuxedo shirt and tossing it next to a door that seemed to lead to a closet. This door was also painted with a mural- towering cliffs and a thundering waterfall ending in a peaceful lagoon. "Hate you both," she added, wearily shaking one fist, "so bad."

Rose's dirty shirt was followed by the black undershirt, as well as Sadie and Danni's tux shirts and black undershirts, leaving the Joker surrounded by three women in three tight white shirts and three pairs of black leggings. The dark outline of three bras stood out starkly against the pale fabric of the shirts. The white shirts went down to mid-thigh, almost like mini dresses, and the sleeves capped off an inch past the shoulder.

"Well don't you all look adorable and perky," the Joker drawled, flopping down on the black leather recliner in the middle of the room.

There were random cushy chairs and bean bag chairs in red, white, green, and black, and black plastic blow up chairs covered in burgundy and wine colored silk and velvet cushions. The two love seats were white, and seated right between the two-seater furniture pieces was a black leather four-seater couch. They all lay in a sort of semi-circle in the middle of the room, surrounding a big-screen television.

Off to the side of this furniture managerie was the kitchen, and Danni immediately went into it and flicked on the bright, fluorescent lights. Her heels clicked gently on the ivory linoleum tiles as she strolled to the sink.

"Is he _criticizing_ us?" The brunette called as she turned the chrome handle and water began pouring out of the faucet. She grabbed a plush, burgundy hand towel and laid it neatly on the counter beside the sink, then grabbed the Lemon Dawn dish soap. Blowing her bangs out of her face, she stuck her wrist under the water, waiting for it to get warm. Something leonine and predatory bared its teeth when she flashed the Joker a kitten smile.

"I think he _is_," Rose replied calmly, and flounced down onto the floor, where she immediately unbuckled the straps on her character shoes and slid them off her aching feet. The little toes and the soft part of her feet burned and stung where she undoubtedly had blisters. She began rubbing her left foot, and found several tender, incredibly painful spots there. Rubbing gently, she kept her gaze focused on the Joker as he shifted in the big La-Z-Boy recliner and propped his feet up on the arm of the sofa. His boots left smudges of dirt on the white suede of the love-seat. Rose's eye twitched, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

Sadie, hating her shoes and the stinging, leaking split in her lip, made an irritated noise- a huffing sort of growl, like a wet cat missing a piece of its voice box- and kicked her shoes off, launching them halfway across the room. They collided with the wall to the accompaniment of two resounding thuds.

"Hey!"

"Hey!"

Ignoring Rose and Danni's protests, the dark haired young woman walked slowly, gingerly, to a black beanbag chair and sank down onto it, curling up like a kitten into a tight little ball. Her entire body shivered, shaking with tiredness. She'd slept perhaps six hours in the last three days. She needed a break. She needed something to eat. She needed a shower. She needed a nap. Probably, she thought acidly to herself, she needed a boyfriend, too, but that was never going to happen.

"Sadie, sit up," Rose ordered, switching to her right foot and beginning to massage. She winced when her kneading fingers found a popped blister on the fleshy, silky part of her instep. Ignoring the pain, she instead focused on her youngest sister. "We need to see to your lip."

"Mmm-mmm," Sadie replied, shaking her head in the cradle of her arms. She could taste the sweet bite of the copper red blood on her tongue as she sucked on her bleeding lip. Mingling blood loss and tiredness was beginning to make her a little woozy. She needed to sleep soon. The world wanted to spin, spin away from her eyes, but she wouldn't let it. She kept it in place by keeping her eyes shut and her head down. She sighed, and kept sucking on her lip. It was how she'd stopped her lip from bleeding before, by applying pressure until the tiny capillaries and smaller veins collapsed under the suction.

Of course, she'd never actually split her lip like this before.

"Sade," Danni called the golden-eyed woman's nickname from the white-lit kitchen. The water gushing from the faucet gave birth to clouds of steam as the petite brunette woman scrubbed her dirty hands with scalding water and the lemon scented dish soap. She needed to get that white gel out from beneath her thumb nails, it was nasty. "Sade," she called again. "Let us fix it. It won't stop bleeding if we don't stitch it closed."

"Mmm-mmm!"

Joker watched Sadie curl up even tighter, like a snail, on the black beanbag chair, and wondered what her deal was. Maybe she enjoyed the taste of her blood oozing into her mouth. Maybe she was phobically afraid of sewing needles. Or maybe she was a heroin junkie and the needle made her want a fix. Who cared? What was he, the damn psychiatrist? Not hardly. And even if he was, these four were beyond that kind of help. Besides, there might've been a perfectly normal explanation as to why she insisted on leaving a severe laceration like that untreated. She might be a masochist. Perfectly normal.

"Sadie-" Rose tried again.

_"Mmm-mmm!"_

"Oh, for the love of killer clowns," Rose muttered, and got gingerly to her feet. An ache was beginning to settle on the balls of her feet and in her heels. It sharpened considerably when she actually put weight on the abused appendages. Stalking to the bathroom door, she slammed one frustrated fist against it.

Crystal roared, "What, dammit! Go away!"

Rose called through the thin, wooden slab, "Sadie needs stitches."

"Make the Joker do it! I'm taking a freaking shower!"

Rose blinked, and in her head, she heard a soft, possessive growl. Irritated, she snarled at her inner darkness, _What is _your_ problem? You were fine sharing him with Crystal._

_Crystal is like us. Sadie does not have one of us inside her. Sadie is different. Sadie hears the whispers. She is not like us._

_What do you mean? _Rose asked, stunned. Not like them? Sadie? But that was impossible. The four of them, they were _all_ alike. They were like the aces of the four card suits, different and yet so very much alike. Similar. Like. Kindred. The four of them were a pack, a pride, each with their own inner predator. Or in Crystal's case, predator, period. What did the Dark Passanger mean, Sadie wasn't like them? That she only heard the whispers? What whispers?

_The Whisperers are like us. The Whisperers are inside Sadie. They are many. We are few. The Dark Passengers and you three are joined. Sometimes split, but usually together. The Whisperers are many, separate, unable to unite. Too many Whisperers. Thousands of Whisperers. Not like us. Don't you understand? Bigger, more. Rival. Threat._

_But it's Sadie, for crying out loud!_ Rose protested.

_She's a bomb. Tick, tick, tick. One day, the Whisperers will unite. Then she will be like us. But she could explode before that happens. Do not share her with Him._

_Oh, go to hell,_ the red head snarled. She shoved hard at the strangely overwhelming urge to begin panicking, shoved and snarled and beat at it until it retreated and vanished.

Why hadn't her darker half ever mentioned this before? Why hadn't she warned her? Why hadn't this come up before? The Dark Passenger never complained about being passed around by mob jerks and having to share her sisters with those men. The few boyfriends the girls had had were exempt from this. There had never been such a fierce level of possession in the dark predators inside the four women over those boys and men. Why, then, was the Joker so different? So bloody special?

_I'll share with whomever I please,_ Rose hissed.

_Share mate?_

Holy crap, what the hell? What about a mate? Rose and the rest of the Damundo girls were destined to be single for life. That was obvious from the lack of success in the boyfriend department. What about mates? Nothing about mates, that was what. The Dark Passenger was off her freaking nut if she had any kind of romantic designs on Gotham's own killer clown.

_He's _not_ my mate._

Her darker side rose up and hissed at her, snarling, growling. She practically screamed in Rose's mind, _**My mate**!_

_What?!_

_My mate. Your mate. **Our** mate. We are alike. We are one. United._

_You're out of your mind._

_That's because I'm in yours._

_Har-dee-freaking-har. We don't go in for mates. I'm not a wolf. Or a freaking walrus. I don't do the mating for life bit. You're crazy._

_Our mate,_ the Dark Passenger insisted. _For life. Forever._

A pounding was beginning to start behind Rose's left eye. She replied firmly, as if speaking to a small child, _We're sharing him with Sadie, girly-girl. If you can call it sharing. He's just giving her stitches. She's got some thing going with him. She trusts him, for some freaky reason. If he tells her to suck it up and take the stitches, she'll do it. She won't do it for us._

_He doesn't care about her stitches._

_He'll care if he gets to put in the stitches himself,_ Rose thought back with no little fire, and instantly knew it was true. If the clown man got to stick needles in someone, he'd make sure they held still and stood in for it. He seemed like the kind of guy who enjoyed hurting a girl.

_Only if they _want_ him to,_ the Dark Passenger practically purred, and Rose felt a shivering tingle run up her spine at the thought.

"Rose?"

The auburn haired cabaret girl jumped when Danni touched her arm. She bit back a strangled scream. "What?!"

"Trouble upstairs?" Danni asked quietly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She cast a look at Sadie, still curled up on the beanbag chair, and then at the Joker, who seemed to be ignoring them. Even as she watched, he grabbed the remote and flicked on the television. The opening theme of _My Little Pony Tales_ fluffed out of the speakers. "You've been standing there for ten minutes with your forehead against the door."

"Ten minutes?"

"Yeah. The Passenger giving you trouble?"

"Just having a conversation," she replied, running a trembling hand through her hair. "We need to talk, the three of us."

"What about Sadie?" Danni asked, confused. Casting an anxious glance at their bizarre houseguest, the petite brunette added, "What about him?"

Following her gaze, Rose only repeated, "We need to talk. Go in the bathroom. Wait with Crystal, tell her we need to talk about Sadie. Oh, and grab me the wire and my sewing kit."

Danni slipped into the bathroom, where the sounds of the shower still came.

Waiting just on this side of the door, Rose held her hand out behind her back. Her fingers curled around the cold, plastic case Danni pressed into her hand, her sewing kit. Wondering if this would actually work, she walked over to where the Joker reclined in his chair. He'd changed the channel from Classic Toon Disney to the Military Channel. Something exploded. Rose noticed Sadie pick her head up, wiping away the smearing of blood on her lips and one cheek with a casual swipe as her eyes focused on the billowing flames on the screen. Rose stepped between the Joker and the television. He gave her a look, and motioned her to move out of the way.

"Pick one: television violence, or real life blood," she said. He glanced up at her, seeming almost bored.

"Is this a new... _game-uh_?"

"No."

Joker smiled. Rose's voice was so calm and steady, so firm. Her face was so serious, so intense. That absinthe look was back in her eyes, but she didn't look... quite the same. Absinthe mixed with something less heady, but still full of fire. Whiskey, maybe. Enough to burn a man's belly, if he swallowed too quickly. That kind of witch's brew could scorch the throat and leave you lying under the table if you weren't careful. Why did she look like that, he wondered? What was the game being played here? Because despite Rose's negation, there most certainly _was_ a game.

"Why so serious?" He asked, smiling that perky, maniacal smile. His voice had a sing-song lilt to it.

For some reason, the sound of his voice, and his shoes leaving mud and sludge on her nice, white sofa arm, made her eye twitch and her nostrils flare. She could hear, like a symphony, the rushing of her blood through her head as her face began to burn. She was certain her face was flushing, and for once, she didn't give a flying rat's butt.

_He's annoying. Why do we have him here again?_ Rose asked the slightly irritated entity swimming around in her mind. The Dark Passenger replied, _He is our mate._

_So what? So he can mock us and watch our TV and sully our home?_ Something in her voice must have caught her personified rage's attention, because the Passenger went still and quiet for a long moment, and then replied softly, _No._

"Rose." The voice was like velvet bondage, rubbing against her flushed, goosebumpy skin. She refocused on the real world, and met eyes like an emerald midnight. She swallowed hard the moment she felt the full weight of his gaze, like a pounding wave, a snarling tsunami bent on crushing her in its grip. It hurt to swallow right then, her throat was so desert dry. "Rose... pretty lady?" His words were almost playful. She had to bite back the urge to scream. The Dark Passenger lunged forward in her mind until it was at the forefront of her skull, peering anxiously out of her eyes to see what might happen next. "Rose-_uh_?" She almost took a step back. Almost. But years of conditioning kept her feet firmly in place as the Joker stood up from the recliner.

Instead, she cast her awareness back towards where Sadie sat on her beanbag chair, her attention focused on her sister and her saint.

Sadie turned from the television screen to Rose and the Joker. She sat up slowly, and brushed back her hair from her face. She wanted to rub her eyes, but didn't want to turn her hands into sparkling purple powder puffs, or smear her eyes black with liner and mascara. She ignored the whispers in her mind, asking questions and demanding actions she wasn't willing to accomodate. She ignored the throbbing from her lip, continuing to suck the stream of blood. Hardest of all, she ignored the pretty explosions on the television set, and the urge she had to light a match and watch it burn itself out, like a single, pointless life being snuffed by the Fates.

Ignoring everything clamoring for her attention, she got up and went to stand beside Rose, tugging on her sister's shirt hem to let her know she was there. The dark haired woman's sleepy, golden eyes framed in violet electricity burned like candle flames, glinted like old coins. For a moment, it was like tripping on acid as those amber eyes like golden tequila focused on the Joker's midnight veridian eyes. There was a warning there, a subtle hint of fury and hatred and the willingness to torture and slaughter, that made the Joker pause. His idea of fun, he knew, was very different from most people's. And while it was just a big joke to him, Sadie and her sisters might not think so. And if Sadie didn't think of it as a joke, somehow he knew that he'd end up about as dead as a slab of beef in a freezer. And death was so _boring._

"What's the game plan?" He asked, grinning. Death might be boring, but these girls sure as hell weren't. They were almost suicidally entertaining.

Rose chucked a plastic case overhanded at the clown, who caught it out of reflex.

"Ooooh. Are we gonna play _catch_?" Joker murmured, leering. He made the word "catch" sound like some obscene, violent sex-ritual involving dead kittens and pigs' feet.

"No," Rose replied, voice steady. Her inner darkness was poking at her brain, trying to get the red head to let it out so it could have fun with the Joker. But Rose knew better. The Dark Passenger just didn't want Sadie to have any time with the clown. The question was, why? What was so dangerous about Sadie that the Dark Passenger was concerned? "We need you to stitch up Sadie's lip."

"Really."

"Yeah, or else it'll heal wrong and her face will be deformed. We can't afford that in our line of work. If you can't hide it with makeup, all bets are off as to how long you continue working in this business."

"Well," he said, smiling still. "There's no business like show business."

"So, me and the others need to talk. Will you do it?"

"I get to play 'Doctor' with your sister? And there will be _blood_ involved?" He glanced at Sadie, who was watching him from behind the double veils of her lacy, black eyelashes and the curtain of her jet black, silken hair. The gold winked in and out of sight between those ebony strands like a beacon. The Joker grinned wider, and added, voice dropping to hellishly dark and low, "Of _course_ I'll do it."

Nodding curtly, ignoring the way the Dark Passenger slammed itself against the barriers of her mind like a spoiled toddler throwing a tantrum, Rose walked away from them, straight backed and calm.

It was hard, she wouldn't lie. Against her better judgement, against her common sense, against her will, and against her character, it was almost impossible to keep from whirling around and throwing herself at his feet. She wanted to wrap her arms around his legs and nuzzle him, cuddle against the wildfire heat of him, the chaotic blaze inside. Rose wanted to feel the roughness of his pant leg against her cheek, the pain of his fingers gripping her hair like the jaws of death, the stinging pleasure of the tip of his knife in her skin as he kissed her. But she ignored everything she wanted, everything her body screamed she needed, and slipped into the bathroom with Danni and Crystal.

Only after the door was shut did she let out the ragged, shaky breath she'd been holding the entire time.

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Woo-hoo! First of 2 chapter updates! Reviews now? I was trying to give everyone a little breathing space, since so far it's all been kind of bam-bam-bam, action-action-action. How'd it go?

Also, I'm hard up for ideas, as well as jokes for our favorite Clown Prince to use. If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to drop me a line. Sorry the updates took so long.

**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 12:** _Sadie never made a sound the entire time he stitched her bleeding rosebud mouth. Didn't she feel it? The needle stabbing into her lips? The wire thread sliding against raw, open wounds? Didn't she feel the stinging, burning, throbbing? But all she did was stare at him, golden eyes blazing._

**Chapter 13:** _How many men had become monsters in her life? How many? Less than a lot. More than enough. Her father, everytime he looked at the world through the bottome of a bottle. Her brothers, strung out on hypodermic bliss. Bruce, in his own heroic way, as the Batman. Harvey was a ruthless man, too. Hungry to destroy injustice, almost blind to everything else. But there was someone else... someone she couldn't quite remember..._

**Chapter 14: **_The water was stained with fuschia swirls at it gurgled in the drain. Crystal let the steaming cascade scour away the maroon and brown and jet splotches of dried fluid, let it drip and rinse off of her skin. She basked in the wet heat of the shower... and did her best to ignore the clown._


	12. 12 Kiss It Better

**So, this would've been attached to "Domestic," but it was too long that way, so it's its own chapter. Hope you enjoy. I've never done 2 updates in one day before. Woot for me! **

**That's why there are no thank yous or shout outs- I put them all in the last chapter and don't have any new reviews. **

**Actually, this is a shout out to my foster brother, David, for letting me use his computer. Thanks, dude!**

**Now, on to Joker and Sadie.**

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**Chapter Twelve**

**Kiss It Better**

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In the great room of the double-sized apartment, the Joker sank back down into the cushiness of the leather recliner and flipped open the lid of the little plastic sewing kit Rose had thrown at him. He had to admire her guts. Maybe he'd admire them again, later, when they were laid out on the floor in a bloody circle. But he'd do that later, after she quit being so much damn fun. He had no idea how she'd react to anything, no idea how any of the four women would react. He had no idea how they worked, why they worked. He didn't know enough about them.

Yet.

He looked at Sadie, looking almost like a little girl who'd raided her father's closet in her large tuxedo shirt framing that slim, black clad frame all hunched in on itself as if expecting a blow, and said, "C'mere." He flicked his wrist, beckoning gently to her. She came slowly, uncertainly, hesitation etched into every footstep. It took five minutes, but it seemed like five eternities, to get her to the point that she was standing before him. Now, suddenly, she refused to meet his gaze. She stared resolutely at the wall above and behind his head, her hands loose at her sides, but her entire body tensed and ready for flight.

"You don't talk, do you?" He asked softly.

After a very long moment, she shook her head. Apprehension tickled up her spine. She wasn't used to being alone with men unless they meant to hurt her. And if there was going to be pain involved, the kind she didn't like, she didn't want to be aware of it. She was slowly retreating back inside her mind, behind the walls all four of the show girls had constructed in their heads to protect themselves, to keep themselves sane and, for the most part, whole. She wanted to disappear through the floor, sink through the apartment building unnoticed and invisible until she sank into the earth and vanished from sight and mind.

"Come down here," he whispered. The velvet bondage was back in his voice, ice crusted black satin, blood red handcuffs on her will and self-possession. She shivered, and sank to her knees. Her golden eyes, blank and glassy, only cleared when he snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Do you want me to hurt you?"

Her mouth gawped like a fish, open one minute, closed the next. She blinked, glanced away. He grabbed her chin, gripping it hard enough to bruise, and she gasped.

"Look at me when I talk to you, Sadie," he growled, and her heart skipped a beat. She wiped her chilled, damp palms on her leggings and forced herself to meet the hellion gaze like emerald poison bearing down on her. She gasped when her eyes found his, and something soft and sadistically sweet crawled out of her mouth. It might've been a whimper. His grip tightened, until his fingers were outlined by stark white spots that shone through the worn foundation on her face. She swallowed hard, and nearly choked.

"Hold still." His voice scraped against as he took the needle out of the sewing kit. It was already threaded with the thin wire used in hospitals to apply stitches to wounds. She jerked a little in his hold when he touched the icy point of the silver needle to her lip, and he grabbed her face, holding her head. "Hold still, kitten." She swallowed again, her eyes widening as they focused on the thin silver spike making its way towards her mouth. "Now," he added tenderly, stroking her cheek with one gloved finger. "Brace yourself, girly. Because this is really going to hurt."

He plunged the needle into her bloody bottom lip.

Pain. There was pain, like the prick of a heroin needle in the empty, collapsing veins, like narcotic sugar coating the inside of her mouth. The silver shine of it sank into Sadie's lush bottom lip, drawing a thinner trickle of ruby blood. Her golden acid eyes were wide in her face, her pupils dilated like a cat's. Her entire body shook. And more of that vibrant blood flowed. A soft sigh escaped from between her parted lips. Her eyes found the Joker's as he pulled the needle through the flesh, sliding the wire through the tiny hole he'd put in the soft, bleeding flesh of her mouth. Her eyes, those golden eyes like LSD mixed with crack and ecstasy, boiling the blood as they roved over his face, over the rictus grin spreading across his face like a stain as he stabbed the needle into her lip again, and pulled the wire through.

This was different, she thought. The Whisperers agreed. If it had been Rose, or Danni, or especially Crystal, it would be agony. Tears would be running down her cheeks, ruining her carefully made up face. Her nails would be drawing blood from her palms as she clenched her fists. It wouldn't be this... this magic. This was different.

_Do you like it?_ The Whisperers hissed sibilantly in the back of her mind. _Do you see what he turns pain into? With his very chaotic being, he turns the world on itself._

_Yessss..._ She almost moaned, and the needle plunged into her again, leaving a glistening trail behind it's bloody, beautiful passage.

The Joker shuddered at the freakish look in those acid eyes. Something more than pain smoldered in their depths, intoxicating, frustrating, evanescent. It dug at him, a scalpel in the belly carving out little pieces of himself so he could watch them writhe and dance to the music playing behind those eyes. Staring into them was like tripping on LSD. Poison yellow diamond eyes, acid rain sky eyes, wolf eyes blazing in a pixie face. The amber eyed, jet haired fairy girl never made a sound of complaint or pain the entire time he stitched her bleeding rosebud mouth. Didn't she feel it? The needle stabbing into her lips? The wire thread sliding against raw, open wounds? Didn't she feel the stinging, burning, throbbing?

All she did was stare at him, golden eyes blazing, until he'd finished the bloody job. By the time it was over, his hands were bloody, and her chin was a mess of flesh colored powder and smeared scarlet fluid. He knotted and cut the wire, and stowed everything back inside the sewing kit. He flipped the lid shut. Her eyes never left his face. If he'd been a different man, he might have felt nervous. She was watching him like a hawk.

"You got a staring problem?" He asked. She shook her head. There was something very predatory in her expression, but at the same time he saw wistful high school girl in her face. "You have blood on your shirt." She merely shrugged.

What was _with_ these women?!

Sadie's teeth sank into her lip. She felt pain. If she hadn't been face to face with the Joker, she might have winced and allowed her teeth to release the still leaking facial feature. Instead, she bit down harder, and a drop of scarlet welled up like a bloody tear at the center of her lush, bottom lip. It grew, swollen with the pressure of her teeth as more blood fed the droplet until it became a fat, ruby drop and rolled off of her lip and down her chin. She saw his eyes follow that blood drop. She leaned forward, her knees protesting the hardness of the bare, wooden floor, and the dim light from the kitchen reflected on the crimson jewel that now hung like a tear from her elfin chin. Her hands found the cool, black leather of the chair on either side of his legs.

_What am I doing?_ She wailed silently, but her eyes were blank of the torment inside her. _What am I doing? He'll think I... he won't stop! What am I doing?_

_No fear,_ a voice in her mind whispered.

_You are strong_, said another.

_He will only hurt you if you wish him to,_ murmured a third. _You are mates. __Do not fear him._

_Be brave,_ said the first voice softly. _It is only a kiss._

_What kiss?_ Sadie asked breathlessly, tremulously. Her entire body shivered. Her mind leapt frantically back and forth between the Joker and his burning, implacable, dominating eyes and the conversation taking place inside the amber-eyed woman's head. _We aren't kissing._

Joker stared at the crimson bubble of blood on her chin for a long moment, throat working almost convulsively. She was tempting him, and part of her knew it. He could see it in her eyes. But she didn't know for certain, didn't understand completely. Blood. Blood and pain and a woman's screams, the ultimate aphrodisiac, the ultimate sexual experience. But, he suddenly thought, maybe not with this one. Maybe not these women. Maybe there was more here. After all... he'd never known another of his own kind before.

_Kiss her,_ part of him snarled viciously. _Show her what it's like to dance with the devil by the pale moonlight. Show her what she's bringing to life. Put a _smile_ on her face._

_If I hurt her,_ the voice of caution, such a breathy whisper, tried to say, _her sisters will kill me._

_She wants you to,_ that part of him insisted. _Kiss her._

The Joker growled, grabbed Sadie roughly by her hair. It felt like gossamer against the bare skin of his wrist. He hauled her forward as he lunged for her, and his mouth crashed down brutally on her parted, still bleeding lips. He growled and snarled against those petal soft, bloody lips as he nipped and bit, as his tongue thrust viciously into her warm, wet mouth. She shuddered and whimpered, pressing her slender, soft body against him. His other hand found the small of her back and forced her closer. He could taste blood on his tongue, her warm, salt-sweet blood, taste it in the delicious trap of her mouth, in the ripped and ragged silk of her lips. He bit harder and harder, devouring, drawing perfect blood, tasting her pain, relishing in it. He wanted to yank on her hair, hard, just pull it until tears came to her eyes. He wished with a fierceness that surprised him that he could kiss her like this while bombs exploded and fires raged around them, while people screamed in fear.

Something like anger, hot and aching, coursed through his body. He wanted more of her pain, more of her blood, more of her ragged gossamer mouth like shredded rose petals. So he gripped the knot he'd inexpertly tied at the end of her stitches in his teeth and pulled on it, ripping the wire from her lip. Blood sprayed him, sprayed her shirt, leaving a fine red mist accented by crimson blooms on the snow white fabric across her breasts. She moaned and pulled him back to her, kissing him desperately. Her body trembled as her soft, gentle hands found their way into his hair.

Every drop of her blood on his skin scalded him. It practically sizzled when it touched his cool skin. But all he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh inside at the incredible joke he'd walked right into. Now he saw the funny side of it all. Now he knew the truth- this pretty, acid-eyed pixie princess was completely, totally insane.

And she belonged to him.

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So, reviews for me? Yes? Because I am loved by you?

**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 13: **_Rachel popped a Valium, sighing as Maggie flopped down on her bed, lounging oh so casually. The brunette knew why the ice eyed woman was still there. She wanted to talk about the past. She wanted to talk about old friends and old flames. She wanted, in other words, to talk about Jack._

**Chapter 14: **_"This is a war, ladies. So which of you gorgeous girls wants to join my team?"_

**Chapter 15:**_The darkness pressed in, closing down all around her, smothering her, choking her. She clawed at it, screamed at it, begged, sobbing wretchedly as she thought longingly of a knife blade cutting into her wrists. And he watched, watched her struggle against her terror, switchblade just aching to draw some of that beautiful blood._

.

**Disclaimer:** the phrase "what it's like to dance with the devil by the pale moonlight" is from the movie Batman (1989), spoken by Jack Nicholson as both Jack Napier and Joker (two somewhat distince personalities).

And **NO!** He's **NOT** in love with the four of them! He's **NOT**! It is **ONLY** that they intrigue him because they're strange (see crazy) and unique and he hasn't figured them out yet.

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	13. 13 Mnemosyne and Lethe

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Mnemosyne and Lethe**

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She didn't want to talk. What was so hard about that to understand? She didn't want to think, she didn't want to talk, she didn't want to kiss or be kissed, cuddle or be cuddled. She certainly didn't want to deal with the men in her life right now- either one of them. She just wanted to be alone. She needed time to think, time to focus, time to reorganize her thoughts, marshal her feelings. She needed her space.

_Ugh,_ she thought acidly to herself. _How childish do I sound? "I need my space." Good grief._

"Well," Maggie whispered in her ear, head on her shoulder, "You do kind of need space. Because you and I need to talk, Rachel."

Rachel let her forehead thunk against the icy window of the limousine Bruce had provided to drive her home, since her car was part of the crime scene. The cops said they didn't know what to make of it, didn't know what was going on, or why anyone would want to shoot up a cabaret club owned by a rich playboy with no real enemies. There were even whispers of hiring thugs to attack the place to cash in on insurance money. Like Bruce needed it. But those were the kind of things an Assistant District Attorney picked up when she had her ear to the ground, listening in on the gossip.

She knew they were wrong. Wrong, or corrupt. Because Rachel had seen the intended targets of the attack. The shooting wasn't to hurt anyone, really, unless someone had stayed behind to spy or attack- someone like Maggie. Shooting up the club was solely for the purpose of clearing it out while the lights were down so that the goons sent in to do the grunt work could get a hold of the Damundo girls and Danielle Spinelli. For what reason, the ADA had no idea. There was no chance that the mob had found out that the four women were spies for the District Attorney's office- they hadn't even been contacted in the last eight months, or passed along any information. The reason they were still considered "rats" was because they'd been instrumental in testifying in closed court against Carmine Falcone a year ago.

Now someone was after them. Probably the mob. But it wasn't execution style. If they'd been in real trouble, there would've been an attempt to put bullets in their brains. None of this grabby-grabby stuff. So what, then? What could they have done to warrant this kind of drastic action?

"Hello? Earth to Rachel?" Maggie poked her in the shoulder. It was like being jabbed with a red hot needle. Rachel waved her away, and went back to thinking.

Could one of the girls have finally snapped? After all they'd gone through, after everything the mob had done to them, would it be such a marvel if one or two or all of them finally broke and attacked someone? Killed them, even? Except that there had been no such violent murders, and if the four women were going to snap, even individually, there was going to be a splashy enough death that everyone would've heard about it by now.

Like what had happened to those mob goons in the little theatre club. The violence done to those men was what the brunette woman expected to hear about if the girls had done something so naughty as kill someone. She had so many monsters in her life, including those four. But they were just baby monsters compared to the others in her world. The monsters who were also men.

How many men had become monsters in her life? How many? Less than a lot. More than enough. Her father, everytime he looked at the world through the bottome of a bottle. Her brothers, strung out on hypodermic bliss. Bruce, in his own heroic way, as the Batman. Harvey was a ruthless man, too. Hungry to destroy injustice, almost blind to everything else. But there was someone else... someone she couldn't quite remember...

Staring out the window fogged by her breath, she watched as the poverty-stricken, violent streets of Gotham City passed by in a blur of chrome gray shadows and amber streetlights flickering dimly in their pestilential state of decay. Everything here was falling apart. So many homeless, so many beaten and battered by people who should love and protect them. Beaten...

"Like us?" Maggie demanded, putting her feet up on the opposite window. Somewhere along the way, she'd lost her boots and was now in her black-socked feet, wiggling her toes against the chill mirror. "Like how _we_ were beaten by the people who should love and protect us? Just because they were-"

"That's enough, Mags," Rachel snapped, and the ice-eyed woman glared at her. Just because the fictitional maniac in Rachel's mind was telling her the truth, didn't mean the lawyer wanted to hear it right now. She didn't want to think about anything at all, much less all the men who'd passed through her life. Her father, her brothers, Bruce, Harvey... Jack... No. Don't think about Jack. She wouldn't think about Jack. She didn't even remember Jack.

"Liar," Maggie hissed, and bolted upright. Her ice blue eyes blazed, almost white in the darkness of the backseat of the limousine. The streetlights gave her face an eerie ambience, as if she were holding a flashlight beneath her chin. But... how could it... "Lies!" She snapped. She crawled towards Rachel, predatory, graceful, and all too angry now. "Do you think I'm stupid? I'm in your mind, Rachel. You can't hide from me. You can't hide your precious, oh so innocent thoughts. Don't think I don't know what your trying so very hard to forget."

"Shut up, Maggie."

"Remember him, Rachel. He's the one that created me, remember? He helped you to survive and you repay him by dropping him off the edge of oblivion in your sweet little mind."

Rachel shook her head, hooking her hair behind her ears. She didn't want to listen to this. She didn't want to think about what Maggie was saying. After all, if she listened, then she would remember, and if she remembered, everything was lost. She'd go back to being what she was as a little girl after she was forced away from Bruce, back to what she became again when he disappeared for seven years. Jackie's girl. Jackie's beautiful girl...

"Jack," she whispered. Her teeth sank into her lip. "J-Jack..."

"Remember how he used to treat us?" Maggie whispered back, and put her arms around Rachel, slender and strong as steel, a cage as well as an embrace. The brunette laid her head on her old friend's shoulder. She knew, intellectually, that Maggie wasn't really there, but she felt real. She smelled real, even, the same smell she'd always had- Mountain Breeze scented Tide laundry detergent, the soft and sweet scent of Johnson and Johnson's baby powder, the honeysuckle perfume of Winnie the Pooh brand baby shampoo. The leather jacket she wore smelled like leather, felt like leather under Rachel's cheek. If this wasn't real, then so what?

But she didn't want to remember Jack Napier.

"He was our friend, Rachel," Maggie whispered to the trembling woman. Rachel couldn't breathe. She was choking on the scent of Old Spice cologne- where was _that_ coming from? It was so familiar, tugging at her senses. Why did it smell so familiar? Maggie went on, "Don't you remember? He protected us." Memory, and the scent of Old Spice cologne and aftershave (strange how they could smell so different from each other), clicked into place in Rachel's mind. She remembered the bottle, the belt, and the blade...

"He killed our father," the ADA managed to gasp out. Old Spice was pouring down her throat, choking her. Maggie stroked her hair back from her forehead. She shivered in the ice-eyed woman's grasp. "He killed... cut..."

"Yes," came the gentle, smiling reply. It was the smile of perfectly contented child. "Yes, he did. When Daddy was hitting us with that belt of his and we ran out of the house, we ran straight into Jack and he killed our father for us so we wouldn't have to. Remember? Jack saved us." Maggie's grip tightened around Rachel's body. The lawyer moaned softly, barely audible. Why didn't the driver hear her, she wondered? What was he doing? "And after he was done slitting our father's throat, do you remember what he said? Do you remember what he did?"

Rachel shuddered as phantom lips brushed her mouth, and whispered a butterfly of a kiss on her cheek, and touched her ear. She could hear the soft, baritone voice out of the past as if it were happening now, right this moment: _Do you know what it's like to dance with the devil by the pale moonlight, Rachel?_ She sighed as the words caressed her mind. Why was Maggie forcing her to remember? She was wrong, Jack wasn't here! But she remembered...

.

After an eternity lunging for an escape from her own mind and being knocked back into memory, the limousine pulled up in front of her apartment. She thanked the driver, and if her voice was shaky and her eyes wet with tears, the nice man didn't say anything about it.

Rachel took the stairs two at a time, anxious to be up in her room. She needed to take her meds. She needed to make Maggie go away before she did something unthinkable, like let her remind the ADA all about Jackie the Homicidal Maniac. With that thought in mind, she barrelled right on through the door, locked it behind her, and went to the counter, where her pills had sat all day, feeling lonesome.

Rachel popped a Valium, sighing as Maggie flopped down on her bed, lounging oh so casually. The brunette knew why the ice-eyed woman was still there. She wanted to talk about the past. She wanted to talk about old friends and old flames. She wanted, in other words, to talk about Jack.

But she wasn't going to. Instead, she washed the Valium down with her Quetiapine. It dissolved almost instantly in her mouth, and before she could start feeling woozy, she stripped off her jacket and Jimmy Choos and flopped down on the bed beside Maggie. She grabbed her two favorite stuffed toys- a weakness she still carried from her childhood. Mr. Bats and Jackie the Clown were her favorite toys, even now. It was why they were still here with her, when all of her other toys had been packed away and kept safe for her children's use- whenever she had any.

"Goodnight, Mags," she said. She was already so tired. Her eyelids were drooping even as she snuggled under the burgundy satin comforter, another gift from Bruce. It had seen better days- it was almost fifteen years old- but it helped her sleep.

"Goodnight, Rachel." Maggie's voice was soft and breathy, barely there.

"Goodnight... Mr. Batsss," she added, kissing the bat plushie, slurring her words. She knew she sounded drunk, but she just couldn't seem to get up enough energy to care. "Good... night... Jack..."

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Wow, a third chapter in less than 24 hours!

So, here's Rachel again! As you can see, she has her own problems. Because she's an already established character, I'm only hinting at her revious relationship with the Joker right now. I'm focusing more on my OCs. BUT!! Soon Rachel will be a huge part of the story.

Again, I'm hard up for ideas, as well as jokes for our favorite Clown Prince to use. If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to drop me a line. Sorry the updates took so long.

Author's Note: the title is Greek. It literally means "Memory and Forgetfulness." Mnemosyne is the Greek goddess of memory and the mother of the 9 Muses. Lethe is a Naiad in Greek myth (a very minor river goddess) and the daughter of Eris, goddess of Strife. Her river is the River Lethe in Hades, where if you bathe in it, you forget everything. At least, according to my textbook.

Anyway, reviews?

**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 14: **_Now what was he supposed to do? Suddenly he had four psychotic wenches draped all over him like serial killing silk, their narcotic eyes focused on the television as a blond bimbo shot her backstabbing boyfriend. The conflicting fire and ice of their presence ate at him. He needed a fix, a fix of dynamite and death and delight. Either that, or a homicidal rendezvous with four luscious women. Either one._

**Chapter 15: **_"There are monsters in the darkness. You and I both know that. Isn't it funny that a monster is afraid of the dark?"_

**Chapter 16: **_She'd kill him. One of these days, she'd cut him up into little pieces and hack him into bits and then feed him to a tank full of piranhas. Something violent and bloody. Anything. She'd kill him._

_Unfortunately, right now, she had to have sex with him._


	14. 14 Feminine Rituals Part 1

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Feminine Rituals  
(Part 1)**

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Rose and Danni both needed to relax. Crystal could see that, even through the frosted glass of the shower door. But she wasn't the maternal one around here and she was busy trying to relax herself. She didn't really feel like dealing with her older sister and their best friend right at the moment. She wanted to enjoy possibly the greatest sensation in the world. Better than sex, better than ice cream, better than dancing, was the ecstasy of a blissfully blistering, luxuriously lavish, sensually scalding shower. And she was currently in a frosty glass and snow white ceramic box enjoying the heavenly hot water pounding down on her with the force of a fire hose.

"So, we need to worry about Sadie?" Crystal asked incredulously. Right. Granted, the little pixie had it in her to decimate the entire city of Gotham, one person at a time, but she'd never do it. There was too much trauma, too much of the timid little girl in her. The blonde had no fear whatsoever that her younger sister was going to blow anything up or drive anyone to suicide. If anyone was in danger of snapping and ripping the world apart, it was Crystal.

Maybe Danni. She was just _so_ well adjusted to being homicidal.

The blonde woman grabbed her Herbal Essence Freesia and Honeysuckle shampoo and poured it on top of her head. The cool, pale pink gel globbed on the crown of her head for a moment before slowly beginning to slide down the slopes of her skull. Replacing the bottle on one of the shower wall shelves, she began furiously working the gel into her baby fine, golden blond hair, foaming it, lathering it, until every strand of gold glistened with soap bubbles. She wanted her hair as soft and shiny as when she'd come into work that day. Before it had gotten soaked by that jerk's blood.

"That's what the Dark Passenger said," Rose replied. The redhead was sitting on the toilet, her right foot propped up on the sharp edge of the bathroom counter, her corresponding knee bent so she could tuck it beneath her chin. She was painting her toenails.

If this had been a normal group of young, twenty-something women, the thought of giving one's self a pedicure after butchering almost half a dozen people wouldn't have occurred to any of them. But one thing the Damundo girls and Danni Spinelli had discovered over the years, was that looking pretty made you feel good, feel brave. Sometimes, it made them even feel reckless. So Danni and Crystal weren't surprised that the auburn haired woman was painting Veridian Venom polish on her toenails. She'd already applied the clear, nutritional base coat of polish, to strengthen the nails. After five coats of the acid green paint, she'd put on the Diamond Darling polish (somewhat sparkly top coat) and let it dry.

And then she would get the freaking shower, dang it. Danni could wait. Rose had bruises in places she didn't even know existed in this dimension. She hurt everywhere, that slow, soft throbbing ache that told you your body was just waiting for you to let your guard down before it wolloped you with whatever punishment it was trying to devise.

"How come we're not concerned about Clown Man?" The blonde in the shower demanded.

She turned around and tilted her head back, allowing the scalding spray to pound the soap out of her hair. Hot water sluiced over her body. The water was stained with fuschia swirls at it gurgled in the drain. Crystal let the steaming cascade scour away the maroon and brown and jet splotches of dried fluid, let it drip and rinse off of her skin. She basked in the wet heat of the shower... and did her best to ignore the clown. She could feel him. She hated that. Rose was right, she should've been working harder on maintaining and practicing on her shields. But the sheer blazing force of the Joker's presence broke down anything, any wall or hedge or shield she might try to conjure up in her mind. It made her eyeballs itch and her head ache.

"Because he's not a problem yet," the older woman stated calmly, almost blandly. As if she weren't fighting against exactly what Crystal was experiencing- the inability to maintain a psychic shield against the Joker's far-too-close presence.

Danni didn't even bother to try. She wasn't in anyway telempathic. She had neither gift. Her clairvoyancy wasn't something she needed to shield from... most of the time.

"Yet?" The brunette asked softly. She turned her head towards the bathroom door, and wiggled to ease the bite of the sink against her thigh. She was sitting in the sink bowl, kicking her feet idly, trying to maintain focus on both the conversation and whatever might be happening on the other side of that door. She could smell blood, sharp and copper sweet. It danced in her nostrils. But she wasn't sure if it was because she still reeked of the fluid, or that Crystal was trying to wash it all off, or that Rose had yet to wash herself and remove the maroon stains on her hands, arms, and face. It might have even been from the great room outside, where Sadie had stayed with the homicidal clown man in makeup.

"Yes," Rose replied. She carefully began the third coat of Veridian Venom on her left middle toe. "He's not a problem yet."

"What do you mean, yet?" Crystal demanded, groping blindly for the towel she kept draped over the top of the shower stall door. The sting in her eyes meant she'd poisoned her sockets and ocular appendages with shampoo dripping in. She found the lush hand towel and hastily wiped the moisture from her eyes, grimacing a little at the sting. "If he's going to become a problem later, that makes him a problem now. So we kill him. Now."

_I don't think that's such a good idea,_ the Good Child mumbled. _What if it doesn't work and he gets mad?_

_Oh, freaking jalapenos on a damn stick, shut up! Chicken little freak. Why are you even **here**?_

_Because-_

_Rhetorical question,_ Crystal snarled, feeling her innocence cringe. _Shut up, dammit._ Aloud, she added, "Seriously. Mind rape him and kill him. Hell, why should you do it?_ I'll_ do it!"

"No," Danni contradicted. "Don't. There's something more here at work. Come on, can't you feel it, Cryssie? Don't you feel the potential in this place now? It started electrifying, sky rocketing, the minute he stepped into the apartment. We can't kill him. And even if we tried, I don't think he'd die, honestly."

The sliding glass door of the shower sprang open almost as fast as a lightning strike. A head of dripping wet blond hair and streaked, wet, blue and black and red makeup peeked out, staring with wide, frigid violet eyes at the brunette woman sitting in the sink of the little bathroom. For a long, drawn out, almost comical moment, there was silence. Then, finally, Crystal yelped, "Are you on _**ACID?!**_ What do you mean, he won't die!? If I stick something sharp and pointy in his heart, he's _going_ to **_die_**!"

"He's going to help us," Rose said, unruffled in the face of her sister's incredulity. "Not because he likes us, but because it fits in with his plans. As long as our goals and his plans mesh, we need to keep him around."

"What happens when the meshing no longer meshes?" The blonde demanded.

Rose gave her a look full of absinthian fire and replied, "_Then_ you can kill him."

The Dark Passenger shrieked in protest, but the red head ignored it and began working on the Diamond Darling top coat of her toe nails. Once that was over and dried, she could hop into the shower without ruining her very relaxing pedicure. That'd be nice.

"We need to go out there," Danni said suddenly. She turned inward. _The inner demon is coming,_ Danni warned. She knew no one could hear her but the inner darkness deep within. But that was what needed the warning. That needed to be poked out of its sleepiness, needed to be woken up so everything would work out the way it needed to, which was- show dominance, square off, and hope she didn't get knifed.

Both Rose and Crystal jerked their attention to the brunette.

Inside her, that predatory jungle cat out of someone's nightmares lifted its head and began purring loudly, like a motorboat. Danielle could practically feel the contented cat sound vibrating through her body. Her eyes, stormy and lit with tiny lightning strikes of fire, were trained on the bathroom door as she levered herself out of the cream colored, porcelain sink and hopped off the counter to the floor. Her feet protested, but she ignored it.

_I know,_ her leonine side replied, perking up its ears. If it had been a house cat, its whiskers would've swept forward with interest. _I know our mate is coming._

_What is this mate stuff we keep hearing about? The Dark Passenger said the same thing about the Joker before, to Rose._

It was strange, the conversations Danni had with herself. It wasn't like Rose, conversing with the Dark Passenger, or even Crystal talking to her repressed conscience, the one that she tried her hardest to disassociate from herself because being Crystal and having a conscience just wasn't realistically compatible without going completely nuts. But Danni's conversations... it was a coping mechanism. She knew that. It was disassociating a characteristic of her person- the urge to kill things in such a brutal, animalistic way- and giving it personification in order to help her focus and compute the information that characteristic, as well as her clairvoyancy, helped her to pick up. Now it was such a deeply ingrained habit, she didn't even pay it any attention anymore. There was no one to talk to, nothing there, but she didn't let that fact bother her anymore. It hadn't bother her since she was a little girl.

_Don't know,_ her inner voice whispered. _Can't explain it. Magnetism. Moth to the flame kind of thing._

_We're not picking anything up, are we?_

_No._

Danni saw the knob of the bathroom door turn slowly. Her heartbeat sped up just a little. This was like something out of a horror movie, as the knob twisted ever so slowly, like the languid spiral of the solar system into super nova destruction. Unavoidable. Unstoppable. Coming closer.

The brunette supposed this was just another example of how she was a freak. Some part of herself was telling her that a normal person ought to be frightened by the psychotic entity on the other side of that door. A normal person would gasp softly and whimper in utter terror as the doorknob turned. They would view the bathroom door as a portal, a black gateway to an infernal hell through which something six-hundred, sixty-six times worse than Lucifer his own damned self would enter, intent on bringing about the Apocalypse. That's what part of her was saying. And she wasn't feeling or thinking of any of that. Yet another symptom of her freakishness. Because the only thing Danni experienced as she watched the door latch unclick and the rowan wood door begin creaking open was heart-racing anticipation as she hopped back up onto the counter to give herself the advantage of a well-placed leg.

The Joker tried to walk in. Danni's foot shot out, stopping the swinging motion of the opening door. The bathroom door slammed backwards and hit the clown in the face.

Crystal wrung out her hair and whipped it over one shoulder.

Rose's slowly moving hand ceased its brushing movements, and she pulled the nail polish brush away from her foot, her eyes darkening to midnight jade shards of jagged, cutting glass as she focused on the door.

Danni put her foot down.

The Joker pushed the door open, slowly this time, and took his time scanning the little bathroom. Cramped as it was, the women within were all incredibly close together. Rose's bent back was scant inches from the glass door of the shower. Behind that door, the blonde killer with eyes like indigo ice stood at just such an angle that everything was hidden behind a well placed leg and a curtain of hair. Danni sat perched on the edge of her seat, which consisted of the miniscule inches of plastic counter top between the counter's edge and the sink's rim. Three pairs of feral eyes watched a tiny trickle of blood dripping from the clown man's nose.

"That wassss..." He hissed the sibilant 's' sound, like a humanoid serpent. He paused, as if searching for a word. Finally, he found it. _"Totally_... uncalled for," he said slowly.

Danni felt something in her stir at the peculiar emphasis he place on his words. She knew what it was- aggression, anticipation. She wondered vaguely if the Joker realized there was a more controlled, feminine clone of himself in this tiny room with him. Because more than any of the rest of them, Danielle Spinelli was closest to the chaotic psychosis the painted man represented. And she was the one who anticipated, with incredible, blood-singing eagerness, the snapping, the loss of control, because then it would be like finally having a little brother (or an older brother, she wasn't sure) to play with.

And she _wanted_ to play. Her current life was so damn _boring_.

"Who," he went on, and the brunette shivered like an excited school girl staring up at her movie star crush. "Who," he repeated, flicking his tongue across his crimson slashed lips. "Kicked that, that _door_ at me?"

Rose bent her head and went back to painting her toenails. She was on the last toe. The others sparkled with a diamond glass sheen, thanks to her favorite brand of top coat polish. Thanks to the soothing, pedicurial ritual, she could ignore the throbbing of her ear. The burn, where they'd cauterized the wound with the hot Zippo lighter, pulsed in time with her heart, like an attention whore child tugging at its mother's skirt. She needed to wash the powder off of the wound soon, before infection set it.

Crystal glanced through the glass door at Danni.

_Dan?_

_I've got it covered,_ the brunette thought at her. So the blonde went back to her hair, grabbing her Herbal Essence Sweet Pea Conditioner and pouring a huge glob of the pink crystal-flecked, white cream onto her head. She worked it into the glistening, wet strands, anxious to keep her baby fine hair texture.

Danni regarded the clown man calmly, and said, "I did."

"I... _see_," he said. He rolled his eyes up in his head, as if thinking of some divine problem from back across the ages, a puzzle of divine import regarding Providence and the Heavens. His forehead wrinkled, leaving flesh-colored lines in the chalk white grease paint. He tapped his chin thoughtfully with his index finger, still in the plum colored leather gloves. He flicked his tongue across his lips. Danni felt a tiny thrill in her chest, and tried to ignore it. "And, um... you, uh, wanna tell me _why,_ exactly, you decided to, uh... _hit me_... with a _fucking door_?"

"You need to learn to knock, dude," Danni replied. She kicked her feet against the wooden cabinets under the sink.

Crystal laughed behind the glass shower door, a tinkling laugh like silver bells and glittering wind chimes.

Rose choked back her own laugh as she finished the final stroke of her right pinkie toenail. She screwed the lid on the little pot of polish and set it carefully on the counter beside the black and red porcelain cup that held their four toothbrushes.

"Really," he said. They were _laughing_ at him? Didn't they get what was going on here? Didn't they know-

"We know a lot more than you give us credit for," the blonde in the shower called. She ignored the looks leveled on her by Rose and Danni. They knew she'd read the Joker's mind, and she'd done it on purpose. It wouldn't have been loud enough and clear enough for her to answer in such a way that she'd gotten the reaction she'd wanted- pissed off, slightly bewildered, intrigued- if she hadn't done it on purpose. And that meant she was interested in the guy.

_He's scary-_

_He's a psychotic clown. But I'm Crystal Damundo, and I don't give a shit about scary_, she thought acidly, and ducked her head back to rinse out the creamy conditioner from her hair.

Aloud, she added, "You have a plan for us. Well, we have a plan for you. You can swim through our heads, because you're smart. _We_ can swim through _your_ head, because we're psychic. And we can kick each others' asses for days, and neither side will come out on top because we're all bat shit loco and handy with sharp, stabbity objects. But we also have common enemies, so me might as well work together. Don't you think?"

The Joker blinked. She'd stolen the words right out of his mouth. They did have common enemies- the Mob, at least. Gambol, specifically. He had a hunch about that mob shooting, and that it had everything to do with Rose coming with him after the black mobster had informed him oh so politely of the bounty on his head. And maybe... maybe they all hated the Bat, too. Maybe they'd help him expose the flying rat man in rubber.

But he couldn't let them get away with this crap. Not for too much longer. That wasn't in the plan. They were monsters. He liked monsters. But they were going to be _his_ monsters, and his possessions didn't talk back like that. He'd have to train that out of them.

The petite brunette interrupted his thoughts by calling to the blonde, "Crystal, are you _done_ yet? Crap! Some of us reek of bodily fluids and death, too, ya know!"

"Don't complain to me if you bought crappy perfume," Crystal sniped back, but her hair was completely rinsed and all the blood had been washed off of her body, so she turned off the water. She pulled the door open a few inches and groped wildly for the black towel hanging on the rack . She grabbed it, hauled it in the now silent shower with herself, and shut the door again, so she could hastily towel herself off without giving anyone an eyeful of naked blonde. However, she was still silhouetted against the glass, a fact she was cruelly reminded of when, as she bent over to dry off her long, lean legs, the Joker gave a lewd wolf whistle.

"All right, clown boy," the blonde snarled, reaching for her razor with one hand and the handle of the shower door with the other. "That does it!"

If having a ravishing, naked blond woman lunging for him with a straight razor- who shaved their legs with a straight razor?- was anything unique, the Joker didn't show it. Danni and Rose simply watched as the blonde woman lunged for the painted man, and he grabbed her by the wrists, laughing maniacally. The blonde slammed her forehead into his nose, snarling like a rabid beast, but it's not as hard as she could manage. Something inside was holding her back. But what? She wanted to filet this guy like a fish. She wanted his guts for garters. She wanted to see his blood, more of it than what was streaming from his nose. The only reason his nose wasn't broken was because some indefineable thing had stopped her from slamming it with everything she had.

"You think this is funny?!" She screamed. He only giggled.

"Will you two knock it off?" Rose demanded, hopping off the toilet. She wiggled her toes to make sure the nails were dry, and then grabbed her sister's wet, blond locks and hauled on them until Crystal was forced to back up.

The Joker didn't release her wrists, so the blonde hauled down on one arm, bringing his fist wrapped around her wrist down to her mouth. Her teeth sank into the back of his hand, drawing blood. She tasted the crimson copper of it, and the meaty salt taste of his skin, and the faint undercurrent of gunpowder. Her entire body gave one convulsive shudder. The painted man groaned, and only tightened his grip on her wrists. Crystal jerked her head back and stared into his eyes. She could feel the stinging of Rose's grip on her hair, but knew that if the older woman thought there really was a problem, she'd instantly release her sister and come to her aid with teeth and fists. Danni would be there as well. But that didn't stop the tiny quiver her muscles had picked up somewhere as she stared at the Joker, their gazes locked.

"Let me go," she hissed. Her eyes were like morphine and opium. Poppy petal eyes frozen in blocks of ice. The Joker shuddered again and growled, his voice a hellish snarling, "Do that again." She jerked against his hold, and he gripped her harder, feeling her bones grinding under his fingers. She pulled, but her spirit wasn't in it. The rage was there, burning and flaring up like a bonfire, but she didn't want to break free of this shackling grip.

"Enough," Danni said, and leveled a swift kick to the Joker's knee. He released Crystal and hunched down instinctively, backing out of the bathroom.

"Jealous, Dan?" Rose asked casually, releasing her hold on Crystal. The petite brunette looked from the trembling blonde to the red head and scoffed.

"No. Why? Are you?" Danni asked, and picked something off of the rack in the bathroom. It was Crystal's plush, black bathrobe with the shiny satin trim, and her initials embroidered on it in electric violet. Custom job from Victoria Secret's Christmas catalogue. She handed the robe to the shivering blonde, who immediately donned it and tied it shut.

Crystal didn't want to think about what had just happened. Something had stopped her from fighting. Something had fought against her natural instinct to fight to the finish, go for the throat, and end it all with a messy, viciously violent kill. And that something wasn't Rose grabbing her by the hair, or the cold, calculating look in Danni's storm gray eyes as she thought about whether the Joker was going to live to see the dawn. It was the clown himself, that burning gaze like sugared anarchy and heroin fire in his black-rimmed sockets. Even thinking about it gave her the screaming shivers.

"Shut up," Rose said to Danni, who went into the bathroom.

"Shower's mine now, thank-you-very-much," the petite woman called before shutting the door. Learning from past experiences, she locked it.

Ignoring everyone, Crystal glided over to the left-hand sofa and sank down onto it, grabbing one of the pillow-cushions, a red velvet thing with golden embroidery and fringe, and hugging it under her head so she could relax.

She needed to relearn how to breathe.

How did a predator like her get so thrown off balance by a clown? What was his deal? He was psychotic, that was all. She'd plummetted twice into his mind- though the first time had been worse, she'd been drowning, devoured by his gaze and the intensity behind it- and she still didn't understand him. She could barely read him. Not because she didn't have the ability or the strength. Not because he had natural shields. He was the most unshielded person she'd ever come across. It was because being in his mind was so disorienting, so confusing. Up was down and black was red (not white, but red, like freshly spilt blood and exsanguinating roses with dripping thorns). She didn't have time to read him before the sheer magnitude of his mind began crushing her.

And that was the problem. And it was a big problem. She couldn't afford to be thrown off balance like this. He was just a man. He was just a simple human- a male at that- and therefore, she was stronger, sleaker, deadlier. She didn't have the time, the energy, or the lifestyle to accomodate being afraid of any man, much less one who wore makeup.

A pressure on her knee, which was peeking out of her bathrobe, jerked her out of her reverie. She looked down to see the black haired head of her younger sister laid on the top of her leg where it was bent over the edge of the couch. Sadie held herself at an angle with one hand, and the other slim appendage was laid across Crystal's other knee. The slender, dark haired girl's very presence radiated peace and contentment, and it soothed the blonde, allowed her to sink back from the massive, irritating introspection long enough to begin construction on her ice walls again.

She ignored the Joker as he flopped back down in the black recliner. She ignored Rose, too, who was heading towards the kitchen. It was only when Rose picked up the phone that Crystal called, "What are you doing?"

Popping her hip and jazz bouncing to soundless mental music, Rose replied, "Ordering dinner."

"I want Chinese," the Joker said without looking away from whatever fascinating thing he'd discovered about the ceiling of their apartment. Rose looked at him for an incredibly long, breathless moment. Her face switched between rage, amusement, mild affection, and something that might have been black hatred. Then she looked at the phone, as if she wanted to beat it to death with a shovel.

And then punched in a number. She heard a voice on the other end.

"Peking Palace?"

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_Okay, if I hadn't broken this chapter in half, it'd be almost 10,000 words. Too long, because it would stick out funny against all the other chapters. So here's part 1. Anyway, reviews? I like them. They make me happy._

_**Thanks to:** _

_Queen of All Canines, Alys98, Giggi02, Gamine Madcap, and sleeplessly for reviewing my latest chapters! Woot! _

_And thank you, Bleeding for You, KatxValentine, RedJackPirate, and Alys98 for being such great writers! Check them out, everyone, their Joker fics rock!_

_._

**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 14.5: **_"So, uh... how do you lovely ladies feel about... the Batman?"_

**Chapter 15: **_"I'm the only one born this way. The only mad one. The only killer born through murder. And I've been killing all my life. Try to top that, Mr. Joker."_

**Chapter 16: **_She ran to him, ran straight into his arms, eyes streaming, bleeding diamond salt down her cheeks, and pressed her face into his chest. When she heard the snick of the switchblade popping free, something in her shivered, and she clung to him even tighter, a little girl and her monster._


	15. 15 Feminine Rituals Part 2

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Feminine Rituals  
(Part 2)**

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Danni huddled in the shower, feeling strangely lonely. The idea of loneliness, the feeling of abandonment, gnawed at her a little, like a canker worm, as she let the pounding spray wash over her. She knew exactly why she felt alone, even though her best friends were all within a stone's throw of her, on the other side of that bathroom door. She knew why. She was alone in her own mind, alone in that she was the only freak among them. She knew that. She was different, even from the three Damundo sisters. She was a psychotic monster, born in blood and raised, like a changeling, among the human children who could never comprehend who she was or what she would become.

_Ugh,_ she thought suddenly, savagely, catching her lip between her teeth. _I sound so emo! What is wrong with me?!_ She considered the status of emo to be something only teenagers aspired to. Being twenty-one, she couldn't hide the pang of disgust her self-pitying thoughts gave her, even though she couldn't deny the truth of them. _I'm degenerating into a post-adolescent whiner._

_It's the Joker,_ the leonine growl inside her mind whispered. _He's the first of your kind you've seen._

_He's not my kind, though, _she thought to herself. And if he had been, it wouldn't have been any excuse to fall back into bad habits from previous years. She grabbed the bar of pink Dove soap in her hands and began lathering them up. There was still maroon etched into the lines of her palms. _He's different, too. He was made, too._ She began rubbing the bar along the tops of her breasts, watching the soap bubbles slide along her skin as gravity claimed them. _He wasn't born. _Danni lifted one leg and pressed her foot to one of the shower walls so she could slide the soap bar along the lean, thick muscles of her thigh and calf. _I was born this way._

_Are you sure you just don't remember being made?_

Now there was a question she'd asked herself a million times over. What if she hadn't been born a freak? What if she'd been created, like Crystal? Like Rose and Sadie? Like the man in clown paint strutting around their domicile like he owned the freaking place? What if she had been fashioned, a victim of her circumstances? A real life, psychic Frankenstein girl transformed into the homicidal demon she was now? But if she had been made, and not born, why was she different from the Damundos? She had control, at all times. She never lost her temper. She didn't even really have one. She didn't bat an eye at butchering someone, or several someones, as long as she didn't have any fondness for them. She was the ultimate killing machine- no hesitation, no mercy, no remorse. That set her apart from her friends, as well.

Why did seeing the clown man make her think of these things? She wondered as she began soaping up the other leg, watching tiny rainbows being formed on gossamer thin sheets of bubble attached to the thin, blonde hairs on her leg. She shrugged inwardly, and laid herself out flat on her back, letting the shower pound her stomach, a thousand drumming fingers on her skin. Why did seeing a homicidal man in make up make her question herself? She didn't have time to be second guessing her existence right now.

But... but being around him made her mind fizz, her fingertips tingle. She felt giddy as a little girl on her first pony ride. It was almost like the strange relief and rushing release she'd felt long ago, when she and Sadie had beaten their Civics teacher into a bloody mess of a corpse back in the sixth grade. And yet... so different. So strange.

_I hate mysteries,_ she snarled inwardly, and grabbed a bottle of Sea Breeze scented SoftSoap Body Wash, pouring the transparent sea green gel on her stomach and rubbing it into her skin. _There's something freaky weird about that man, and it's like... like a whirlpool. It's sucking us all in. And not just us. There will be more. Two more, at least. A brunette and a blonde. I know that. It's inescapable. So should we even try?_

Somewhat disturbed by the fatalistic, melancholy tone to her thoughts, she shrugged off her musings and instead turned her attention to the women in the other room, wondering what they were doing...

.

Crystal was studiously moisturizing her skin. She had her back to the Joker, who lay across the black leather recliner, so that she could let her robe fall from her shoulders without him seeing any body parts she'd rather keep hidden. The blonde sat on the floor, ignoring every other presence in the room while she tried to figure out whether or not she was finally going completely off the deep end, and whether or not she was just imagining that the prickling on the back of her neck and down her spine, and if she wasn't imagining it, was it caused by a man in make up staring intently at her back like she was a prime cut of sirloin steak or something.

She rubbed the pale lilac lotion into her right leg, over her shin and calf. She could feel the skin tightening as it dried, stretching and itching. She needed the wetness of the lotion to keep her skin from cracking and bleeding. Sometimes she fancied that she was so full of burning, black rage, it tried to rip out of her body, cooking her flesh until it would split and let the hatred and fury leak out like cooking grease.

"You're, uh... very... _fidgety_. Ya know that?" The Joker asked.

Crystal turned her head as far as she could manage, to look at him.

The clown had to admit she seemed... less edgy, less jerky than she had outside of the apartment. She was such a contained person- bottled rage, canned fury, hatred in a glass. He kept expecting her to explode in a shower of lethally sharp fragments. Kept expecting her to snap. The way she'd snapped in the bathroom and attacked him. He wondered if she'd felt the strength in his grip on her wrists, wondered if she realized he'd been less than a hair's breadth away from snapping her delicate bones like twigs.

"I loathe you," Crystal said calmly. Her words held no inflection. It was as if she were an emotionless, logic-driven computer, a machine. A robot.

"No, you don't."

_He's ri-_

_**SHUT UP!**_ She shrieked silently, jerking back around to furiously scrub the lavender cream into her other leg. She tasted something tantalizing and bittersweet underneath her tongue, and hated it. It was emotion, the emotion welling up inside her, flooding her veins and pouring into her lungs, drowning her. It pounded her like a tidal wave, trying to suck her under. Shaking her hair into her face, she squeezed her eyes shut and screamed, **_ROSE!_**

The red head had just finished ordering their food from Peking Palace and hung up the phone when she heard her name being howled by Crystal. The sound reverberated in her skull, bouncing off bone and cerebral membrane, giving weight to her already present headache. She looked over and saw Crystal intent on her lotion.

_Wha-_ She began, when a wave of anxiety, golden warmth, and black fury slammed into her. The older woman's knees buckled, and she grabbed at the kitchen counter, momentarily blinded by the empathic wave beating at her with its furious intensity. Was all that coming from her sister? The rage, the fear? And that softer, syrupy emotion, something like... recognition, and yet not. Acceptance? Happiness? No, not exactly... potential. The potential for mad, exhilarating joy. Agonizing pleasure. Unholy... romance? Where were all these impressions coming from? And why were they being consumed by the terror pouring off the furious blonde woman on the cold wooden floor?

There was so much confusion and it wasn't helping Crystal's mental state.

Biting her cheek, Rose focused her eyes on her younger sister and pushed back with a different emotion, the emotion of calm, serenity, tranquil coolness. Projecting it at her sister, she forced it over the blond, forced it into every crevice and cranny of her brain until those freaked out, spazzy emotions of confusion and terror faded under the psychic pressure.

_Thank you..._

_What is _wrong_ with you?!_ Rose demanded. When she saw Crystal wince, she added, trying to lighten the mood, _You need a manicure. And a pedicure. It'll make you feel better._

_Get my polish, please._

The act that she added the word please, more than anything else, gave the auburn haired vaudeville girl the heebie jeebies. Crystal saying please? What was the Joker doing to her? What was his presence doing to all of them? Were they being trapped, without even realizing it? Sucked into something they didn't understand? Ignoring all those questions so she could maintain that calmness she'd pressed upon her sister, she went back into the great room of the apartment and to one of the bookcases lining the walls. Along with a thousand and one different books of varying genres, there was one eight-tiered bookcase beside a huge, full length mirror, that held the makeup they kept at home- including the one hundred twenty-five bottles of nail polish on the third shelf from the bottom. She grabbed the humongous tray, careful to keep it level, and carried it over to where Crystal sat, now rubbing moisturizing lotion into her shoulders.

"You need to comb your hair before it dries all tangled," Rose added aloud, setting the tray down on the floor. She got up again and went back to the bookcase, grabbing the brush that had strands of feet-long, silky blond hair caught in its bristles. She grabbed that, too, and went back to sit behind her sister. "You are so comfortable being naked," she added absently, and began running the brush through the sopping, tangled mess. "Did you even dry this?" She demanded.

Crystal didn't answer, only grabbed Mulberry Wine Misery polish and, after wiggling her toes a few times, began brushing the dark purple paint over her toenails. Crystal, as well as Sadie and Danni, shared Rose's philosophy that a self-done pedicure makes the day much brighter in the long run, even if you have to wade through a gazillion corpses to get to the polish.

They were ignoring him, the Joker thought, irritated. Acting as if he weren't there. Every piece of attention they _did_ give him was purely unintentional. Did they think if they closed their eyes, he'd just disappear?

"You want me to brush your hair, too?" Rose asked suddenly, without looking up from her task. She didn't let the idea make her hands tremble, or make crimson heat rise into her cheeks. The thought of brushing out that silky, chrome green hair was enough to give her a pleasant, tingling shiver. But the painted man stared at the back of her head until she turned around, looking at him with one sardonically arched, flaming red eyebrow. "Well?" She added. "I'm in maternal mode right now. You want me to brush your hair or not?"

"Um," he said, as speaking to a mentally retarded child. "No." Maternal mode? What was that supposed to mean.

"Fine. Then stop staring at me." She snapped at him, and then went back to brushing her sister's hair.

Sadie crawled over to the red head and the blonde from where she'd been leaning against the sofa and sat cross-legged, picking through the bottles of nail polish. She meant to shower in the morning. She knew Rose needed it more than she did, and the hot water would be gone soon. Besides, the dark haired woman's skin smelled like grease paint and Old Spice cologne, and she wanted to fall asleep smelling like that. It was how the Joker smelled. Her savior. Her saint.

She wouldn't deny seeing Crystal and the Joker grappling like that had scared her a little. But they were both so strong... she knew that it would come to a draw. And it had, thanks to whatever it was about the painted man that drew the Damundo sisters to him.

_He's special,_ one of the Whisperers breathed across the back of her brain. Another one murmured, _Wicked lovely... _It tickled across her mind like a sorcerer's spell, giving her the shivers. _Predator,_ anther voice informed her matter-o-factly. A fourth voice added, _Magnetic._ Her survival instinct screamed, _Don't go near him!_ But finally, one voice, the strongest of the Whisperers, won out over all the others.

It said calmly, _He is the one._

Sadie smiled, feeling her expression tug a little at the wire stitches the Joker had had to replace in her lip after he'd ripped them out in the heat of their kiss. Even now, the recent memory of that savage oral dance made her toes curl. She didn't like kisses, as a rule, and didn't like men, either, as a rule. But this was different. It wasn't just a kiss, and he wasn't just a man. It was a diabolically divine caress and he was the patron saint of murderers, anarchists, and dancing girls.

The amber-eyed pixie grabbed a bottle of metallic golden polish and shook it, mixing it up. She set it on the floor and hunched up, tucking one knee underneath her chin and sticking her toes up in the air. Unscrewing the cap on the bottle, she calmly began applying gleaming gold polish to her right big toe. She felt very golden, suddenly. Being home, with her sisters and Danni, with Chinese food on the way (she loved meat lovers' lo mein) and her saint only inches away on the black recliner, she couldn't help the thrumming, happy squiggly feeling in her stomach like gossamer-winged butterflies.

"So, uh... how do you lovely ladies _feel_ about... the _Bat_man?"

All movement ceased. Sadie glanced up from her sparkly, golden pair of toenails and turned her eyes on the Joker, who had one hand propped on a leather fist on the arm of the recliner. Crystal turned around, her hair falling in a curtain in front of her face as she watched the man in make up. Rose merely bowed her spine and leaned backwards, tilting her head until she could see an upside down image of the clown. She propped herself up on elbow-locked arms.

"What did you say?" Crystal demanded coldly.

"What. Do you _think-_uh. A-bout-_tuh_. The Ba_t_-_maaaannnnn_." His voice dropped several registers, deepening to some kind of infernal, damning resonance that gave all three women a strange, tingling shiver.

"We hate him," Rose snarled, and readjusted herself so that she could go back to grooming her sister. "He's caused us nothing but problems." She tried not to think of the beatings, the impotent rage harbored by all three sisters at the caped crusader who pissed off their owners until all the mob men could think about was beating their frustration and fury out on the three enslaved women. She tried not to think about what she would ever do if she found Batman alone and injured one night in the dark, helpless and at the mercy of one he'd screwed over so many times. She didn't want to contemplate murdering the flying rat man.

But she'd probably do it.

"So... what are ya gonna _do_ about him? _Hmm_?" The Joker asked the red head. She didn't turn to look at him, but he could tell from the sudden tension of her shoulders, from the stillness of the hairbrush in her hand, that she'd heard everything he was saying, that she was listening intently, and thinking. He could almost hear the gears in her head turning as she pondered every possible facet of the question. After several long moments, she went back to brushing Crystal's baby fine, now partially dry hair.

"Nothing," she replied. It wasn't a lie. As of right now, she had no intention of doing anything to or about the man in the rodent mask. If circumstances ever changed, she might, but until then, she intended to do what she'd always done- namely, look after her sisters and do her show.

From far away, Rose heard the noise of the shower shut off. Danni must have been finished.

"What?" He didn't usually ask people to repeat themselves. He prided himself on being a divine-style observer, omniscient, omnipresent. Once he heard a thing, he never forgot it. He always paid attention: to his enemies, his victims, his playmates, his toys. So it was with no little irritation, like the smoldering wick on a stick of dynamite, that he asked Rose to repeat what she'd just said about the Batman.

"I said, nothing."

His left eye twitched. He could feel the rigid hardness of his knife- the one he kept in his sock- almost like a hammer pressing against the soft, sensitive skin of his ankle. He had to fight not to clench his hands into fists. He asked, calmly, "And, uh... why, uh... _why_ would tha-_tuh_... that, um, _be_, exactly?" He dragged out the end, making it "exact-leeeee."

Crystal demanded angrily, "What can _we_ do? Nothing. Nothing but wait long enough to take out the jerks we really want dead- the mob bosses."

"Whom you are soon to be working for," Rose added, and tied up Crystal's hair with a soft, silky violet sash the blonde handed her from the pocket of her bathrobe. "But she's right. That's what we're doing. Waiting for the day when we can take out the Mob. Once Gambol, Maroni, and Chechen Paperdowski are dead, we'll be happy, and we can pretend we're actually normal human beings and go on with our lives."

The Joker blinked once, slowly.

"Why?" He asked.

"Why what?" Danni asked as she came out of the bathroom. She was in a royal blue Victoria Secret bathrobe, same style as Crystal's, but with metallic silver embroidery. Her initials were stitched into the right lapel. The huge, lush robe nearly swamped the petite brunette as she made her way to the white sofa Rose and her two sisters reposed in front of and sank down, tucking her feet under the thickness of her bathrobe.

"Why... why preten-_duh_? Why be... _normal_?" He spat the word like some vulgar expletive. Suddenly frantic, spastic, electric, he leapt to his feet and paced in front of the four women with sharp, jerky steps for a few seconds before he spun on them. "Don't talk like you're one of _them!_" At this, he gestured angrily towards the windows opposite the front door. All of Gotham's deviant, decadent, impoverished population spread out before them, viewed through the panes of glass. "You're not! No," he added, a bit more calmly. "No, you're not-_tuh_." He made a sweeping gesture with one hand, keeping the other firmly behind his back. "You four." He leaned in, and they could see the blazing intensity of his eyes. "Are _not_." And then his voice dropped several registers, becoming that hellish, velvet bondage growl. "Like. _Them."_

"Then what _are_ we?" Rose demanded.

She ignored her sisters' wide eyes focused on her, ignored the Dark Passenger tugging at her, trying to force her to back down. She understood why her inner darkness was panicking. This wasn't the mate, not exactly. Right now, it wasn't sex and animalistic passion blazing in the room. It was a choice- sex, or food. Passion, or meat. And the chances of being one or the other were equal.

"You... you're _poison_," he snarled, and sank down on his haunches so he could look into each sister's face. Absinthe eyes, to intoxicate. Opium eyes, to sooth and sedate. Acid eyes, trippy as hell. He flicked his eyes once to Danni, and without even thinking about it, or the shiver running up her spine, she slid of the couch to sit beside Sadie. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, eyes like angel dust to shoot through the blood, and felt a bestial desire for a gorgeous explosion. "You are... the _poison_ that will bring this... world... to its _knees_. You are _agents..._ of chao_ssssuh_. Like _me_," he added brightly, suddenly smiling. "People think we're... _monsters_. They think we're horrifying. That we're... _fuh-reaks-suh_. But they're wrong. Aren't they? We're not monsters. We're not freaks. We're just-"

"Ahead of the curve," Rose finished softly. She remembered what he'd said moments before he'd ravaged her mouth in the car. That they weren't monsters. That she wasn't a monster. Who had been the last man to tell her that?

_Bruce Wayne,_ the Dark Passenger murmured. _But he is innocent. He doesn't know what a monster is._

_He does,_ Rose whispered to herself, staring with wide eyes like burning absinthe at the clown man in make up. She tasted blood on the back of her tongue as her consciousness shifted, moved aside to accomodate her other half. She stared at him, tingling with something that might have been anticipation, and added, _The Joker knows what a monster is._

_Yes,_ the Passenger replied, shuddering with delight. _Yes, he most certainly does._

"So," Danni asked, brushing a stray strand of sopping wet hair from in front of her eyes. "What does that mean for us? Why are you telling us this?"

"This is a _war_, ladies. A war against the... _animal_ that is man, apathetic and... _disinterested_... in the chaos game. And right now, we're a small organization, but we have a lot of room for... aggressive expansion. So which of you gorgeously homicidal girls wants to join my team?"

"Are there gonna be tryouts?" The blonde woman demanded, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She glanced briefly at her toes- all ten painted expertly with Mulberry Wine Misery- before returning to her staring contest with the sadistic clown, who grinned excitedly and giggled.

"_**Tryouts**_?! What a _splendiferous_ idea! But not with you four," he added hurriedly. "No, no, no, no, no. _**No**_. Not. You. Four. You four are... already so tightly knit _togetherrrrr_." He rolled the "r" on his tongue, making them shiver. "Why would I break up... the Dream Team?"

All four women looked at each other, masking their uncertainty behind a facade of cold indifference. They were being recruited by the Joker. They were being asked to work for a man who wore make up- _war paint,_ part of them whispered, and they all knew it was the truth- and probably, if they refused, he would kill them. Or try. They were a match for one man. But why refuse? They were already sucked so deep into the criminal underworld that doing anything illegal probably fell under their current job descriptions anyway. And why work for men who used and abused them, instead of this remarkable creature that made their inner darkness shiver and shake with something akin to anticipation?

The Joker waited for a bit, then a little bit longer. They were just _staring_ at each other! What were they thinking?! He couldn't take it anymore! "_**WELL?!**_" He demanded, shaking himself like a dog. The four women looked over at him. Absinthe eyes, opium eyes, acid eyes, angel dust eyes, narcotic gazes like explosive cocaine in the blood, sparking in the brain.

Rose smiled wearily.

"I'm getting in the shower. Don't kill the delivery guy when he gets here, okay?" The red head got to her feet and headed for the bathroom door.

The Joker watched her go, watched the way her muscles rippled with every movement. Powerful legs, he noticed. A dancer's legs. They all had legs like that. Like a swan's wing- beautiful and elegant, but capable of breaking bone with one swift sweep. He'd made his gamble. He'd taken this first, initial risk. He'd thrown his proposition at their feet, given them a glimpse of what lay beneath the deceptively docile surface. He had to remain calm and collected, somewhat "normal" for them until he sucked them in, deeper and deeper into his plan, until they were his. Once they were his, then he could shake off the disguise and show them his true colors.

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Rose could feel something brewing behind her, but it wasn't imminent. Not even well-nigh imminent. She had time to enjoy a shower, get the splashes of blood and bits of congealing brain off of her body. Get the makeup powder out of her wounds and rinse them clean. And part of it was... she wanted to see. She wanted to see the marks on her body, the marks _he_ had put there. That had never happened before. There had never been the desire to see a symbol of ownership on her body.

_I told you, he's our mate!_

_That doesn't make any sense, though,_ Rose protested as she stepped into the shower stall. She twisted the knob, and jets of icy water hit her hard in the face, in the eyes. The burning in her eyes made her squeeze them shut. She needed to do that, clear the grit of the day out of her eyes. She wasn't seeing things clearly. The liquid burn of water in her eyes, ice cold and bitter, helped her clear her mind, helped her refocus on the world. As the water warmed up, she squeezed her eyelids tighter together and shoved her face beneath the now lukewarm spray. Rivulets of water, heavy with makeup, ran down her face. Blindly, she groped for a dry wash rag. Finding one, she searched the corners until she found the blossom embroidered there, and knew it was hers. She scrubbed her face clean of powder and gloss.

_Why doesn't it make sense?_

_How can we have a mate after everything that's happened to us?_ The red head demanded of the Dark Passenger. She turned her senses inward, and delved deep, plunging into her own psyche so she could find the psychological aspect of herself that swam in hellish, hot blood in the back of her mind. She found the Dark Passenger floating on her back in blood, neon green eyes like twin beacons as she regarded her saner side. _How can we have any kind of relationship with a man?_

_He's not a man,_ the Dark Passenger hissed. Somewhere far away, hot water pounded Rose's body, and she lathered pink soap over her belly and beneath her breasts. _He's more._

_What are you talking about?_ She asked softly. _He's male-_

_He's more than human, weren't you listening to Danni? Didn't you see what he did to Crystal when she tried to attack him? Didn't you notice Sadie's face when she looked at him? So adoring, so in love._

The Dark Passenger twisted in the crimson liquid like ruby water and sprang up beside where Rose knelt, dabbling her feet in the blood. The red head stared impassively at the Passenger, who smiled, baring wicked sharp teeth that gleamed like homicidal pearls bent on world domination. Rose cocked her head to one side, thinking of everything the Passenger had mentioned. She had seen her youngest sister's glowing, adoring face as the Joker spoke, had seen the youthful eagerness to follow him as he laid out his basic plan in its simplest form. She had heard what Danni had said about, if they'd tried to kill the painted man, he might not actually die. And Crystal... Crystal was a sleek jungle cat, a vicious and violent predator who killed without mercy once the leash was slipped. Yet she hadn't butchered the Joker. Once he'd caught her in his grip, she hadn't even tried. Why?

_What about the others?_ Rose demanded, ignoring the questions trying to pull at her brain like eager, irritating children. She could focus on the Joker's effects on the group mind later. Right now, she needed to concentrate on her conversation with her more insane counterpart. _What about Danni, Crystal, and Sadie?_

_Sadie will be his favorite,_ the Dark Passenger asserted, sounding suddenly disgruntled. She cast Rose a scathing look. _You should drown her and have done with it. Get her out of the way. Otherwise, she will be first of his women, and we will be nothing compared to her. As for the others, what about them?_ The insane personification demanded. _They are our allies and sisters, by blood and madness. We are alike, kindred. What about them?_

_You don't share,_ Rose reminded her.

_No, I don't share with bigger, better predators. Crystal and Danni are our equals. We have nothing to fear from them. We can kill them when we want. It is Sadie who is the threat. Unless she becomes like us, she will be too much._

_She'll kill everyone, you mean?_

_She'll destroy the pack,_ the Dark Passenger corrected her. They both stared at their dual reflections mirrored in the gleaming, watery sheen of the pool of blood in which they dangled their feet up to mid-calf. Softly, almost inaudibly, the Passenger added, _Sadie is my sister, too. But we are predators. We are animals. Survival of the fittest._

_Haven't you ever heard of John Nash?_ Rose demanded, as soon as she heard the phrase "survival of the fittest." She pulled her feet out of the bloody pool and stood up, shivering as the chill air of the blackest parts of her psyche touched the beads of blood clutching her skin. _He proved the survival of the fittest doesn't always need apply. We can work this out. Sadie would never hurt us on purpose. You and I both know that. If we have to be second place to her in the eyes of a mere man, then so be it. I would rather have my sister and come in second than be in first and lose Sadie. Wouldn't you?_

The Passenger gave her a look, a long and slow glance that told Rose exactly how she felt about the matter. Rose knew that her inner demon couldn't deny her nature, but at least they could come to some kind of understanding.

Shaking her head roughly, the auburn haired cabaret girl hauled herself out of her own mind and back into the real world of the shower. The water was pouring down her body in steaming streams. Her makeup had been completely cleaned off. She was currently patting the torn, burned lobe of her ear very gently as she wiped away the foundation powder. When that was over, she checked to see if it had begun bleeding afresh. It hadn't. She'd cleaned the wounds on the upper part of her chest and along her throat. She'd shaved, washed and conditioned her hair, and soaped herself up and rinsed herself off, all while discussing the Joker and killing her own sister in the black, bloody limbo of her psyche.

Surely there was something wrong with that, for some reason.

Whatever.

She shut off the water, and then got out the shower. Frigid air hit her, turning the droplets of water to tiny ice chips on her skin. She hastily toweled off with the burgundy towel hung up on the rack, and then slipped into her emerald satin bathrobe. Wrapping her hair up in a smaller, wine colored towel, she stepped out of the bathroom and beelined for the couch, sinking down beside Danni on the soft, velvet cushions and leather upholstery. She immediately stuck one leg out, draping it over the Joker's shoulder. The clown man was lounging on the floor in front of the couch, flanked by Sadie and Crystal.

_Chicago_ the movie was on.

Joker gave Rose a baleful look. She only withdrew the towel from her hair, letting the damp, auburn strands fall around her shoulders. Now what was he supposed to do? Suddenly he had four psychotic wenches draped all over him like serial killing silk, their narcotic eyes focused on the television as a blond bimbo shot her backstabbing boyfriend. The conflicting fire and ice of their presence ate at him. He needed a fix, a fix of dynamite and death and delight. Either that, or a homicidal rendezvous with four luscious women.

Either one.

"Okay, that's it!" Rose cried suddenly, and got to her feet. "Screw _Chicago! _No more music. I want to watch _Bram Stoker's Dracula _while I eat my Chinese." _Joy_, her mind added silently, as a smile curled her mouth. Vampire porn with Keanu Reeves and Gary Oldman. Grabbing the disk and inserting it in the DVD player, she added, "And where's my shrimp and snow peas?"

Feminine rituals. Chinese food, musicals, vampire flicks, showers, pedicures. Just what the doctor ordered for four homicidal women shacking up with the Joker after butchering some mob goons.

And the Joker... what a lucky man. Privy to woman in her natural habitat, he also had a qaurtet of killer queens at his side. Four beautiful, berserker women who'd only recently butchered a handful of hapless, idiotic goons. The clown was turning into a real player. Fancy, custom threads. His own secret-hideout crib. And four- soon to be more- gorgeous ladies with miles of leg, several hundred pounds of makeup, and plenty of homicidle rage.

Brad Pitt, eat your heart out.

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_Okay, if I hadn't broken this chapter in half, it'd be **OVER** 10,000 words. Too long, because it would stick out funny against all the other chapters. So here's part 2. Anyway, reviews? I like them. They make me happy. So, review me. I hit the 50 review mark! Woo-hoo! _

_YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!_

_**Thanks to:** _

_Alys98, My-Echo, Bobby Rae, Sped Class, Lord Dragon Claw, and sleeplessly for reviewing my latest chapter! You guys make me feel so appreciated. D _

_And again, thanks to you, Bleeding for You, KatxValentine, RedJackPirate, and Alys98 for being such great writers! Check them out, everyone, their Joker fics rock! Holy crap._

_And thanks to Blake K, who taught me a new word: FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all recognition. I totally hadn't heard of that word before now. So thank you, Blake._

_And thanks to my sister in all but blood, the girl under whose bed I live, Lorien, for helping me fix my characters' flaws when we were discussing the story, even though she swore she would never read this fic because it would give her nightmares. Thanks, love!_

_._

**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 16: **_That was when she met Maggie. Ice eyes burning like white-blue fire, she was the flame in the dark, the cold blast of arctic wind right before you froze to death. She was the flame, and Rachel was the moth. And soon, they were like black and white, night and day, dark and light. You couldn't have one without the other. There was no Rachel without Maggie._

**Chapter 17: **_In the dark of the night, she could be somewhat normal. Because as the lights went down and the night descended, she felt the most human. And that was because she felt the most base of childish terrors: fear of the darkness._

**Chapter 18: **_This wasn't the same as the kiss from this morning. This was being slobbered on by a dog. This was being slavered on by a wild animal. No finesse, no class. Only brute animal lust. It wasn't even decent lust. This was a crappy kiss, and she was going to one day kill the freak who was shoving his tongue in her mouth._


	16. 16 Hypnos and Morpheus

_Okay, not quite sure about this chapter because it's 1) a flashback, 2) a dream, and 3) backstory for Rachel. But only a bit. So, it's kinda slow, but that's cause the action picks up next chapter and doesn't slow down for a while. I wanted everyone to have some more info as well as breathing space._

_Enjoy_

**.**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Hypnos & Morpheus**

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Sweet dreams were not made of this. Sweet dreams were so far removed from this, they were in an entirely alternate dimension whose portal was located on a hick-town asteroid in a far away galaxy in an anti-universe that was the complete opposite from what sweet dreams were made of. And unfortunately, the side effects of sleep medication were so severe for Rachel Dawes that she couldn't even take Hypnosil, the dream-suppressant sleep aid. So when her anti-psychotics took effect, she had nothing to combat the dreams with. And these were dreams so bitter, a lemon would probably choke to death.

In her sleep, Rachel thrashed about, tangling herself in the burgundy satin comforter and the far more normal, pink cotton sheets. Bed clothes twisted into fabric ropes, effectively hog-tying her. She didn't feel the bite of her bonds. Morpheus, the Dream King, purveyor of nocturnal illusions and tenebrous fantasies, was her lover tonight. Tonight, between the faceless shrouded god of dreams and his brother, Hypnos the King of Sleep, Rachel was a helpless prisoner.

Deeply submerged in sleep, she sank further into her mind, from lively, almost electric alpha brain waves into theta state, REM sleep with her flickering eyelashes like black winged butterflies, and her dreams. And with dreams came her memories again. This time, she was an unwilling player upon the stage.

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Once upon a time, a very long time ago, there was the bottle, made of dark brown glass like crystalized dried blood, full of noxious poison.

Then, there was the belt, thick and leather and strapping, that had the dark gift of turning white flesh blood red, and then dark violet and storm black.

And after a princess spent many years of dancing a malevolent tango with these two deviant partners, a shy prince with scars on his face and a rictus grin introduced Rachel to the third partner, the blade...

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For a long time after the Waynes were murdered, there was nothing but sepia-toned grief. Everything had a strange, old movie quality to it, as if heartache could only be shown properly in the light from a silver screen. Her life felt like a movie, like everything was scripted, everything rehearsed and fake. If you poked at it too hard, everything would fall apart at the seams, crumble like a sand castle in the surf. Everything would just disolve. All gone.

Her parents were laid off. That's what started the spiral. With only Bruce to take care of, it didn't make sense to keep the Dawes on as hired help. So they were "let go." That's what you do when you let someone you were holding onto plummet from the edge of a cliff- _let go_. That's what you do when you want to forget everything about someone, forget they even existed and that they meant everything in the world to you, just because they broke your heart- _let go_. That's what you do when the people in your life become superfluous, despite how very much they need you and you need them- _let go_. The Dawes had been _let go_, and her father hadn't been able to get work again. Because they'd worked for the Waynes. Because the Wayne family had made enemies with their war on poverty and crime, and those enemies were vindictive and spiteful. Those people weren't able to _let go._

Matthew Dawes had turned to the bottle. Alcoholic sedation, fermented tranquilizer to suppress the thoughts circling like sharks, murder the feelings of inadequacy, resentment, frustration, impotent rage, the blackest of hatreds for the family that had once been like blood.

Then Cambria Dawes, Rachel's mother, had found work as a maid. Not the lucrative, dignified work she'd enjoyed at Wayne Manor, but still, it kept the heat on in the winter and food on the table. They were only evicted once. Her parents refused to let on that they might need help from Alfred and Bruce.

Then her mother had gotten pregnant, and miscarried. Gotten pregnant again, and miscarried a second time. Managed to catch pregnant one more time, and carried to term. Twins. One living. One dead. Post-partum depression had set in. She'd been too sickly to go back to work.

Her father had started smoking again. Her mother had turned to the burning sweet smoke of whiskey in her mouth to chase away the ever present tang of amneotic fluid and prenatal blood that haunted her every waking, sober moment. Drunkeness hauled both of the elder Daweses down into alcoholism, and slow, liquidated suicide, pulling the trigger on the bottle, milimeter by milimeter.

Her mother died. Easy as pie in the night. Slipped through the fingers of life with a drink and some aspirin, and a very deliberate slamming of her head on the concussive corner of her dresser. Rachel had been twelve. First day of school at Gotham City Junior Public High School had been the day after her mother's funeral. Her father was brimming with burning alcohol in his blood, slowly poisoning him to death. Rachel was still soaked, water logged with unshed salt water grief. She'd shivered and stared at everyone, hollow eyed and skeleton thin. Her gaze had been iced death.

_I want to be the Grim Reaper,_ she thought sluggishly, trudging up the stairs towards the entryway doors of her new school. _Ferrying the dead. My mother could be on my boat..._ She tripped almost absently over her plum purple Vans. She'd get hell for wearing them instead of her uniform shoes, but her mother had bought them for her. Years ago, centuries ago, but still, they were her last gift from her mother. She'd wear them until they fell apart and off of her bleeding, blistered feet.

_I want to deal death,_ she added as an afterthought as she went through the doors. She saw the teachers eyeing her obvious disregard for dress code. Gray pleated skirt was stiff with sewn on patches, for _Rainbow Brite _and _Spawn_, _Rocky Horror Picture Show, Faerie Tale Theatre,_ and Hello Kitty, _the Care Bears_ and Marilyn Manson. Sleeves of her white button-down blouse rolled up punkette-esque, and the buttons weren't simple white circles. Each was different- a skull, a genie's magical lamp, a broken heart, a globe, a tinkerbell charm, a jack-o-lantern. A belt with silver studs. She actually wasn't sure about that one... if it broke the rules or not. It was very sedate.

_I want to destroy the world,_ she thought recklessly, suddenly, and had to bite back a giggle. She'd had that thought before, at her mother's funeral. She wanted to destroy everything, watch it all burn, watch it turn to ash. She wanted so much...

And they knew it. Her nightmares told her that sick, obnoxious truth every night. _They_ stared at her, eyes wary, like a prey animal watching a vicious predator. They knew what she wanted, knew that she longed to strike a match and watch it burn, light something up and give birth to dancing blazes all around, orange and crimson and vermillion and hot sparking electric blue kissing the world into pyrotic asphyxiation. The eyes of her teachers and all her classmates told her they knew it and only one person didn't look at her like she was a sick freak with a lust for charred society.

"What do you want?" She demanded, staring up at burning veridian eyes. Everything was so lucid and strange, dreamy mist and temporally fluid. Hadn't she been in front of her locker on the first day of school ten minutes ago?

"Got any matches?"

"It's against school rules to carry matches," Rachel replied to the strange boy with the blazing eyes. She wondered if he stared at the sun in his spare time. He looked almost blind.

"That's not what I asked you," the boy said, and walked away.

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The same day she met the boy, she had him in English class. And after she met the boy, she went home, and then left home, trudging through the city to get to a place she should never have been. That was when she met Maggie. Ice eyes burning like white-blue fire, she was the flame in the dark, the cold blast of arctic wind right before you froze to death. She was the flame, and Rachel was the moth. And soon, they were like black and white, night and day, dark and light. You couldn't have one without the other. There was no Rachel without Maggie.

And there was always the boy with no name. He asked her for matches every day for ten weeks. She always had them, and never shared. Her matches. Her key to burning down the world. But he was the only person who spoke to her outside of her teachers.

_._

Blood. Maggie was bleeding, from her lips, from her nose, and even from one ear. Everything blurred, everything shimmered and wavered. And things were shattering behind her, exploding in fragments of glass and porcelain. The front door slammed open, but no one touched it. She rushed through the door, and the only thing that could've stopped her in her tracks was standing right there.

Maggie ran to him, ran straight into his arms, eyes streaming, bleeding diamond salt down her cheeks, and pressed her face into his chest. When she heard the snick of the switchblade popping free, something in her shivered, and she clung to him even tighter, a little girl and her monster. Here, at last, was someone who would never fall into a bottle and climb out a homicidal maniac. He would burn down the world, but he would never lose control.

He didn't kill her father then because Rachel dragged him away from their house. One day he would, and she would get to watch the show.

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Rachel woke from her killer suspense, horror movie style nightmare with a jolt, and when her eyelashes snapped open, Maggie was sitting in a chair across from Rachel's bed, eating a bowl of Blue Bunny Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream.

"Sleep well?"

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_**Thanks to:** _

_Barb, Put Here 2 Feel Joy, Kate E. Hilliard, Queen of All Canines, Alys98, Bobby Rae, Lord Dragon Claw, and Reira Hatsume for reviewing my latest chapter! I love you guys! _

_And again, thanks to you, Bleeding for You and Alys98 for being such great writers! Check them out, everyone, their Joker fics rock! Holy crap. And they've been recently updated._

_Author's Note: Hypnos and Morpheus are the twin gods of sleep and dreams in Greek myth. I came up with the title randomly and liked it, so here it is._

_._

**Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:**

**Chapter 17: **_She'd kill him. One of these days, she'd cut him up into little pieces and hack him into bits and then feed him to a tank full of piranhas. Something violent and bloody. Anything. She'd kill him. __Unfortunately, right now, she had to have sex with him, or he'd rape her. Crystal assumed that was why he had the switchblade out, after all._

**Chapter 18: **_"You can't do this to me," she cried, and the belt came down on her back._

_"Oh, baby, yeah I can. I own you."_

**Chapter 19: **_Rose could only remember one thing as her stomach jumped into her mouth: she hated flying._


	17. AN Things

**Chapter Sixteen and a Half**

**Author's Note**

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Okay guys. Here's what's going on.

**One**- I'm supposed to be getting married in 2 months (middle of December about) and I have things to plan. It's taking up a lot of my time. I apologize, but there it is.

**Two**- I'm desperately trying to get a job. After all, hubby can't support me and himself all by his lonesome.

**Three**- My comp is broken, so I only have computer access between5 and 11 in the morning. I can't get up at5 every day unless I go to bed at 8 or 9 the night before, and sometimes stuff comes up that prevents me from sleeping until midnight or later.

**Four**- I was out of town and unavailable on the comp for 5 days, the last day of which was this past Wednesday.

**Five**- I had inspiration for another fic in the few days beforeI went out of town, a House, MD/vampire fic called "_Suck_."

**Six**- I've been desperately struggling to get through Eragon and Eldest by Christopher Paolini because his 3rd book, Brisingr, just came out and I only have 2 weeks to read the thing.

**Seven- **I've been getting ready for Halloween.

**Eight-** I've been watchinga lot of TV: House, MD; the Mentalist;Criminal Minds; Law & Order: Criminal Intent; CSI: Las Vegas; NCIS; and Young Dracula, cutest vampire show for preteens ever.

**Nine-** I lost my 5QaaJ notebook that had the next few chapters outlined in it.

**Ten-** I've been working on a romance novella for Harlequin-Silhouette's Nocturne Bites, and it's taken a while to get it finished. I finally got my last critique back from my Grandma on Tuesday (big romance and vampire fan). Now I just have to send it in to HS.

**Eleven _and most importantly_**- My grandfather died of cancer on Thursday, so I haven't really felt like writing much since then.

I'm sorry guys, but "_Five Queens and a Joker_" is on hold for a while. Not too long- a week or so more, that's it. I apologize for the delay, and I hope to punch out chapter 17 soon. But until then, bare with me, and check out Queen of All Canines' Joker fics, "_Daddy's Girls_" and "_Welcome To Hell_."

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Loves to all my readers,

_LA Knight_


	18. 17 Monsters in the Dark

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Chapter Seventeen

Monsters in the Dark

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She was sleeping, but not peacefully. Tenebrous terrors slipped into her mind as she slept, eerie ghosties and ghoulies dancing demonically through her dreams, drawing her deep and deeper into nightmares. She dreamed, fantastic visions of black shadows and horrifyingly deep, impenetrable darknesses that threatened to consume her. The darkness pressed in like a thick, black velvet blanket, closing down all around her, smothering her, choking her with shadows. She clawed at the blackness, screamed at it, begged, sobbing wretchedly as she thought longingly of a knife blade cutting into her wrists. She moaned and whimpered, crying pitifully like a terrified child.

And he watched, watched her struggle against her terror, switchblade just aching to draw some of that beautiful adrenaline-laced blood gushing through her veins. He could see her pulse fluttering like a dying butterfly in her throat. She thrashed and moaned under the navy blue sheets, tears streaming down her cheeks. He wanted to lick up the salt sweet tears, taste her fear.

What dreams could terrify this madwoman? What awful visions in sleep could frighten this doll faced maniac to the point of tears? Was she a little girl again, haunted and hunted by some childhood terror?

"Sadie… Sadie, don't… don't do it… you're not… he can't… stop… Sadie, don't kill him! Don't kill him!" She cried. "Don't kill him, Sadie!"

So it was Sadie that little Danielle Spinelli dreamed of, Sadie who set her sobbing in her sleep. But what about her? What about Sadie? What could the petite pixie with the acid eyes have done, that Danni dreamed of it now? She didn't strike the Joker as a wimp who cried for every foul act of brutal homicide she committed. So why the weeping? Why the nightmares? What was she remembering in her sleep that frightened her so?

"She's remembering the first man Sadie ever killed," a hard, ice cold voice said from the door. "She and Sadie beat him to death with a baseball bat and a shovel. He'd been raping the girls in their class. Danni wanted to do it herself. She didn't want Sadie to become a killer like her. Sadie was too young to kill so violently. And Rose and I weren't there to help them." Crystal stepped out of the shadows, still wrapped in her thick, black robe, her golden hair cascading down her shoulders. Her eyelashes, free of mascara, glittered like threads of gold in the moonlight peeking in through the blinds on the window. Opium eyes raked over the Joker like cruelly caressing, violently violating knives.

"Where were you?" Joker murmured.

"Trapped beneath Salvatore Maroni and that pathetic excuse for a gangster, Gambol." Crystal sank into one of the cushy, comfy chairs in Danni's room. Second only the Great Room, Danielle's room was considered a sort of "conference" room, and had a great many squishy chairs.

Right now, Crystal felt as relaxed as she ever did in the course of a day. She was home, in the safety of her sisters' company, at night, in the darkness. In the dark of the night, she could be somewhat normal. Because as the lights went down and the night descended, she felt the most human. And that was because she felt the most base of childish terrors: fear of the dark. She and her sisters had learned long ago to fear the oncoming of the night. At night, the tortures began. But now… now, fear was what kept Crystal from feeling like a monster. She wasn't a monster. But sometimes she doubted this basic, fundamental truth. The oncoming darkness and the childish fear it instilled in her helped her to remember that she wasn't without some humanity.

Then fear spiked, stabbing into her heart. The soft _snick_ of a knife flicking out of its snug sheath assaulted her ears. Her eyes slashed to where the Joker stood, silhouetted against the window. His eyes were caverns of darkness trying to drink down her soul. He took a step forward. She leapt to her feet. Her robe fell from her shoulders to pool in a puddle of blackness on the floor. Her white pajamas made her a vibrant target in the blackness.

_We're in trouble, _the Good Child whimpered._ He's going to hurt us._

_Not if I have anything to say about it, _Crystal snarled silently. She tugged at the tight white tunic-undershirt she wore, smoothed her hands over her tight white leggings. She'd kill him. One of these days, she'd cut him up into little pieces and hack him into bits and then feed him to a tank full of piranhas. Something violent and bloody. Anything. She'd kill him. Feed little pieces of him to a cute little kitten. Unfortunately, right now, she had to have sex with him, or he'd rape her. Crystal assumed that was why he had the switchblade out, after all. Or he would just kill her. Maybe that's what he wanted. Maybe he just wanted to kill her.

_We're gonna die! _The Good Child shrieked.

_Kiss my grits, you little twit. This psycho clown man is not gonna do anything to me without losing some valuable body parts. Got it? Now come on, clown boy. What d'you got for me?_

"You've got a little fight in you," he murmured, coming toward her.

Her entire body crackled and snapped with vicious tension. Her eyes blazed electric violet in their sockets, and her hands clenched into angry fists. She bared her teeth. They gleamed like fangs in the pale light of street lamps and the full moon. Her breasts rose and fell, heaving as she dragged in breath after shuddering breath. Her terror spiked, clawing at her mind, and with it was anger, smoldering white hot, waiting to ignite into a blazing, devouring inferno. If he laid so much as a finger on the air a foot away from her, she'd rip him open with his own switchblade and watch him twitch and bleed until he drowned in his fluids.

"Touch me and I'll kill you," she growled. "I'll destroy you. There won't be enough left of you to identify at the Morgue."

The Joker shivered with anticipation. Ever since she'd attacked him, slick with shower water and quivering with fury, pressed against his body as she struggled to do him damage, he'd wanted to enter into a fight with her. He wanted to roll around on the floor with her, her warm, lush, curvaceous body struggling to shred him apart, draw blood. He wanted her to sink teeth and nails into him, feel her drawing blood. And he wanted to sink his knives into her pretty, silky skin and feel her pain, listen to her scream and moan and beg. The question was, would she beg him to stop, or beg him to keep going?

Crystal tried to scream when the mad clown man lunged forward and pinned her against the wall, but her cry was muffled by his mouth crashing down on hers. She shoved her knee into his groin, but he didn't release her, didn't weaken, only groaned savagely into her mouth. Her fists knocked against his head, and his fist sank into her stomach. She gasped into the thing that was a mockery of a kiss, and his free hand slid into her hair, fisting, grabbing a handful of golden silk. His teeth sank into her lip, and she arched into him against her will.

"Ohhh," he growled against the rose petal softness of her mouth. "Now we're talkin'."

"Get off of me," she breathed, almost begged. Her head was suddenly swimming, and she couldn't catch her breath. The Good Child was whimpering irritatingly in the back of her mind. She struggled to get out from beneath the hot heaviness of his body, but he pressed her harder against the wall until she could barely breathe.

"Do you, uh… wanna play… _Doctor_?" He growled, and she struggled to take in a single shuddering breath. "Do ya?"

"Get off," she wheezed.

His mouth was scant inches from her face again. His hellion gaze was burning into her. He was closing the gap between them. She whimpered, and his tongue flicked out, licking his lips. She tasted chocolate and heady alcohol on his breath, felt it warming her lips. His eyes roved over her face, blazing across her features like a hungry wildfire. She shuddered, and he leaned in.

"What are you doing?"

"You look nervous," he whispered. Her eyes narrowed, and she hissed, "You can't make me nervous. Not you, not the Mob, not Batman, not anyone. I'll kill you all."

"You like killing?"

"I love killing, clown boy," she snarled, putting her head forward to glare right into his eyes. "It's what I do. It's why I was born. It's why I, unlike Rose and Sadie, have the voice of sanity begging me to cross the line, instead of the voice of madness. I will kill you if you ever screw with me. Do you understand me?"

He chuckled. She gave a little muffled scream and tried to hit him. She couldn't get her hands from around his neck for some reason. Instead, she found her fingers stroking his soft, stringy hair the color of green chrome. Some of the tension drained out of her body.

_You're being awful quiet, _she said softly to the Good Child, wondering whether or not she and her inner voice had lost their senses completely. What was wrong with them, that this freak-man was calming them, when everything in them screamed to attack him, to kill him?

_I like him, _the Good Child whispered.

_He could kill us anytime, _Crystal protested.

_But he won't, _she replied, as the Joker's mouth found hers. Sighing, shuddering, she melted against him, suddenly exhausted. Her entire body ached, and her entire being cried out that fighting him was pointless. He would always win.

Always.

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Okay, so I know it's been forever. So I wanted to give you guys something. So this gives you some backstory about Sadie and Danni, as well as further Crystal/Joker action. Because I'm pressed for time and the chapter would be too long otherwise, I broke this chapter in half. So the Joker may seem a little OOC and a little too gentle right now. No fears- he'll be back to his sexy homicidal self from previous chapters soon. But I have a bunch of stuff that needs doing today, and wanted to hand over some stuff for you guys. So here it is. Hope you enjoyed. Review?


	19. 18 Conflict

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Chapter Eighteen

Conflict

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Agony blazed from the crown of her head across her scalp, but for some reason she didn't cry out. Why didn't she scream? She didn't even call for her sisters. Something, something more than physical, kept her from crying out with the pain of the Joker's hand fisted in her long, blonde hair, half-dragging her across the Great Room from Danni's doorway to the entryway to her own room. The minute he got her across the threshold, he threw her into the wall and shut the door, locking it.

As soon as he turned back toward her after locking the door, her foot lashed out, catching him right in the mouth. He felt more than heard the soft pop that made her cry out in pain and sink down to one knee, glaring with those dagger eyes of violet ice from behind the curtain of her golden hair. She bit her lip and covered her ankle with one hand, glaring hatefully at him. Her rage shimmered in her eyes like heat waves on boiling concrete. Already he could see her right ankle, the ankle attached to the foot that had split his lip, was beginning to swell.

Hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her pajama bottoms, shaking her hair a little to get the blonde locks out of her face, she cocked one hip, set her Bitch-O-Meter to _arrogant sex goddess of death_ and waited for the Joker to come for her with blades drawn. He lifted his head, one finger to his bleeding lip, and stopped dead in his tracks staring at her with those intense, mad eyes for a long moment. The painted man made a face and spat a gob of blood onto the floor. Crystal had absolutely no trouble figuring out what he was thinking about.

Joker stared at her hungrily for a very long moment, stared at her long legs in their tight, white pajama bottoms, at her curvy hips, slender waist and rib cage, full breasts in their tight white undershirt that bared enough of her pale skin to make him want to lick her like a vanilla ice cream cone. Lick her all over. But only after he'd cut her up and spilled an awful lot of what he knew was her silky, scarlet blood.

He took a step forward. She squeaked and backed up, tripping and falling on her but. So much for goddess of death. Crystal gazed up at him, her eyes huge pools of electric violet ice in her face. _This_ was the man her body wanted her to submit to. The man with blood on his lips, her blood on his knuckles, madness in his eyes, death in his hands.

Was she insane? Had she finally, truly lost it?

She watched him from behind her gold-spike eyelashes and blond waves of hair, and wondered briefly about what little sanity she had left. This psycho clown man was slowly undoing his belt, but somehow she had the idea that he wasn't about to pull his pants down. Instead, she had the feeling that a whipping was in order. But that wasn't right. She wasn't his pet, his woman, his dog. He didn't have the right to beat her.

Irritated, she wondered where her spark had gone. Was she just tired? Was she too tired to fight him anymore? Where was her anger, her fury, her black hatred? Where was the madness she needed to fight this psychopath?

"You wanna play-uh, Ms. Hack-N-Slash?" He growled, taking a step toward her. She shivered, sucking in a breath, and fell back onto the floor, seated crab-style on her floor, watching him with wide, gleaming eyes. He jerked his belt between both hands. It gave off a chilling _whap_ sound. She shivered again, and the clown man grinned, stretching that rictus grin as far as it would go. Crystal sucked in a breath laced with icy terror.

"Wellllll-uh?" He demanded, snarling like a rabid dog. She made a small sound. Suddenly, she was a child again, but the man bearing down on her with all the menace of her childhood demons was far more petrifying than Salvatore Maroni, and her powers didn't seem to work on _this_ sadistic sociopath. She was in serious trouble.

Why didn't she call out to Rose? Rose would be in the room in seconds, with the gun she kept on the bedside table drawn and cocked, ready to fire. And Rose never shot someone in the head, never shot to kill. Rose Damundo had a system- groin, then knees. By that point, the victim of the gunshot wounds would be in so much agony that he'd be a whimpering, gibbering, helpless mass of bloody, gutless white meat on the floor. It would be wonderful to see the Joker reduced to something so pathetic. She was getting a little irritated, being forced to stare up at what was trying to look like her looming doom. But for some reason, she was strangely calm. As if she wanted this to happen. As if she wanted to see what would result from not calling for her sisters, from allowing the Joker to attack her, vent his fury.

She almost wanted... no, there was no almost. She just _wanted_ to see him lose control. But would he? Could she drive him to drop his iron grip on control and become the wild animal she wanted to see? She wanted to feel him close to her, his heart pounding with fury and excitement as he slammed a blade inches deep into her body, as she kissed his chest with hungry lips, licked his hot skin slick with sweat and blood and fury, as he ravaged her mouth and bit savagely at her lips and the rest of her body.

Well, hell. She needed to get over this quick. Now she was startin' to freak herself out. This was just crazy. All of this was just nuts. But she suddenly found herself crawling towards the man in makeup, whimpering softly in the back of her throat, trembling violently. She glanced up into his face, white with greasepaint, and saw the hellion eyes smoldering in the black rimmed sockets, saw the crimson smile stretching into a mad grin.

"Let's… play-uh… shall weeeeee?"

"Yes," she murmured.

__

NO!

The Good Child shrieked.

_NO! No, are you crazy? You don't know what you're dealing with?! Why were you blocking me? Let me out! Let me take over! We have to get out of here! He won't kill us, but we're not ready for this yet! He could seriously hurt us!_

I want him to hurt us,

she moaned as the Joker knelt before her and slid one hand, encased in purple leather, around her throat.

_I want him to. I want the hurt to be because I want it, not because someone else does. My pain. I want it. I want my pain, and I want it from this man, this great mad dog of a man, this agent of chaos, this god of death and destruction, this harbinger of doom._

You're insane!

So you've often told me when I've found myself covered in gore and surrounded by amputated body parts.

He's going to do bad things to us,

the Good Child whimpered. Crystal shivered in anticipation, and against all odds, smiled.__

You know you want him to.

"Penny for your, uh… thoughts, pretty girl?" The Joker asked, tightening his grip on her throat. She could feel the restrained violence in his hold. She stared into his eyes, and tried not to panic. He squeezed again, a brief spasm of muscle, and she squeaked. "Answer me," he growled. The velvet bondage was back in his voice, and hellfire was smoldering in the depths of his gaze.

"You," she whispered, damning the little-girl quality in her voice. Why did she sound like that? Why did she sound so… weak?

Joker stared at her. This wasn't the woman he wanted to deal with right now. He wanted ice, cutting ice that could slice to the bone, and blood, and rage, and hatred. Oh, that mad hatred infecting everything she touched with tenebrous poison. If she wasn't here now, he'd have to find her. If she was anything like Rose, a kiss would be enough, or an attack. Or perhaps both.

He squeezed her throat until her breath escaped in a rushing wheeze, and he pulled her in. His mouth was scorching hot against her throat as he kissed her skin, kissed her gossamer wing pulse and the artery throbbing hot beneath her flesh. He wanted to sink his teeth into that artery and feel blood spray, feel life ebb. He wanted to sink his switchblade into her and twist, twist, twist, feel it cutting her flesh. He whispered hellish, obscene, lilting half-thoughts against her skin as she arched into his hands, which slid from her throat to her waist.

Crystal's talon-like, painted nails sank deep into his back almost violently, drawing tiny founts of blood from his skin. He arched his back and his teeth sank into her throat. Her blood was hot and sweet in his mouth, pouring down his throat, rich and delicious.

She cried out in pain and terror as blood began trickling down her neck, staining her snow white pajamas with crimson. Her eyes went wide in panic.

And then she heard it, the soft _snick_ of a switchblade. She jerked out of his hold, or tried, but he tightened his hold on her hips until his fingers bit into her flesh, bruising her. She stared at him, eyes wide, breathing ragged. Somehow, she had turned back into a little girl. She wasn't like Rose. She wasn't like Sadie. She wasn't like her sisters or Danni or Rachel. When she was frightened, truly frightened for herself, she didn't become insane. It was her flaw, and the fault of the Good Child. Instead, she became weak. She was pathetic, a frightened, quivering mass of terrified infant and-

"You're my bitch."

"Excuse me?" She ground out from between suddenly clenched teeth. What had he just said to her? Her fingers twitched to grab a weapon. "What was that?"

"You heard me, daddy's girl," the Joker snapped. "You're my little bitch. You're gonna do everything I say, aren't you?"

Something in his voice should've warned her, but it didn't. Something in the way he spoke should've told her that all of this was a setup. She ignored every warning instinct that screamed at her not to lose her temper, not to get angry, not to lose control, and she swung her fist around. It connected with the Joker's jaw, popping two of her knuckles with the force of impact. The clown man's head rocked backward, and she jerked out of his hold, scrambling to her feet even as the psychopathic clown leapt up to grab her. Her foot swung out, catching him on the side of the knee. He staggered, but came after her anyway. He was panting and snarling like a rabid wolf, and she was keening softly, though she didn't realize that. Her ankle was throbbing again. She must have done something to it when she kicked him.

She turned and tried to run, found herself faced by the wall of her bedroom, and panicked. Like an idiot, she tried scrambling over her bed, but she slipped on her amethyst sateen sheets and fell, and he was on her in a flash, pinning her to the bed. This time, she opened her mouth and sucked in a breath to scream as loud as she could, to wake the entire building if she had to. But then he started laughing. It wasn't a sinister, maniacal laugh, either, or she still would've shrieked her head off. It was a sarcastic laugh.

"Oh, ah ha, hehehe, ho-hee-haw, hee-ah ah-hah. Well isn't this, um… cozy." Strings of his moss green hair hung down to tickle her face. "That's the fourth time you've attacked me, Cryssie," he added, and made a disappointed tsk-ing sound. "Are we having some… feelings of… _antagonism?_ What's the matter, doll face?"

She bucked underneath him, desperate to throw him off of her, but he slammed his forehead into hers, and she saw stars. Some of the fight seemed to slip out of her. She made a small noise in the back of her throat and went limp.

"I hate you," she mumbled.

"I'm sure you do, isn't that just dandy," he replied.

"I'm not going to let you rape me," she managed to snap back, glaring at the white-faced clown man in greasepaint. She snaked her head forward in an attempt to snap her teeth on his nose or a protruding lip or tongue. He jerked his head back in time to avoid her sharp little teeth, and then slammed his forehead against hers again. This time, she didn't bother trying to count the points on the stars.

"All these 'I' statements. You think the world revolves around you, don't you? You think my entire existence revolves around you. What's the world coming to, that young, nubile, psychotic women can be so narcissistic? Besides, you wanna know a little secret?" He leaned in and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. She blinked, incapable of leaning in just a little in anticipation of hearing this little secret. The Joker smiled a little and murmured, "Well, the thing is, see… I don't, really, uh… like… blonde skanks."

"You did not just call me a skank."

"Um… yeah."

"No way."

"Yeah," he repeated, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, way, _dude_," he added, and grunted in pain when her forehead made contact with his nose for the second time that day. He jerked his head around and bit her fingers. She yelped and writhed, managing to get one leg loose enough to bring up her knee straight into his groin again. He brought one hand up and slapped her hard, rocking her head back. She went limp, and he shoved off of her, cupping one hand under his nose to keep blood from getting on his suit.

He snarled, and she scrambled up off the bed, only to slide back down the floor. She stared dazedly at the Joker, who was pinching the bridge of his nose and blotting the blood with a pale lavender handkerchief. Her head ached abominably, and her ears were ringing. She fell in a heap, suddenly limp and boneless.

"You're a skank," he repeated.

"You're a psychotic clown."

"What makes you say that?"

"The fact that you have a potato peeler sticking out of your pocket, you jerk," she snarled, but it was half-hearted at best. She just wanted to sleep. What was the point of fighting him? She would've given up earlier but he'd _dragged_ her by her _hair_ into her own bedroom. He'd done everything in his power to scare the hell out of her. He'd hit her, for crying out loud! He deserved everything she could dish out to him. Infuriated again, desperate to go down fighting, she launched herself at him, but only managed to wrap her arms around his knees before exhaustion forced her back to the floor.

"Feel better?" He asked.

Crystal languidly flipped him the bird.

The Joker stared at her. She was lying there on the floor, stark against the blackness of the night in her white clothes, with her golden hair and pale face. In the pale light from the street lamps outside filtering in through the window, he wouldn't see what he wanted to see- all those little emotions that the knife could bring to the surface. And she looked so… tired. There was nothing he could get out of her tonight. She was borderline exhausted. If he stabbed her in the belly right now, all she would do is gurgle in her own blood until she bled out onto the carpet. No screams, no fight. She'd used up all of her fight on him already. He'd have to be more careful with her later. She wasn't as die-hard as she had seemed at first. Or perhaps it was just that everything had happened to her so quickly, one thing after another, and she hadn't been prepared.

He'd have to fix that later. But for right now, he'd have to give her a break. It would be no fun without her being up to snuff.

"You should go to bed," the Joker muttered, and headed for her bedroom door. Crystal sucked in a breath and threw herself up to her feet, struggling to make it to the door before the clown man. She staggered forward and grabbed his wrist.

"That's it?" She demanded. "You're just… just gonna go? Just like that? After all the crap we've been doing all night?"

She took a step back when he began giggling. This time, the laugh gave her a chill. Crystal shivered, and would've backed off, but suddenly he whirled around and grabbed her by the throat. She squeaked before he cut off her air. She could barely focus her eyes, much less keep on her feet and keep a plan of attack in the front of her mind. All she could do was grab ineffectually at the Joker's arm like a steel beam and hope he didn't decide to get rid of her. She'd been stupid and pissed off and hadn't dealt with the Joker like a smart girl would've dealt with a real madman. Her thoughts must have been obvious on her face, because suddenly the Joker smiled.

"Welcome back, you, uh… _splendiferous_ squeeze," he said, and his free hand moved so quickly she didn't realize he was holding a knife until the she felt the impact of the stab in her belly. She grunted, gasped, choked, and slid off the knife to the floor, her legs folding beneath her.

She watched him dumbly as he walked out of the room.

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_So... how do you like it? It was a struggle to pop out, so I hope you appreciate it._


	20. 19 The Way It Works

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Chapter Nineteen

The Way It Works

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Rose rubbed her eyes, feeling sandy grit against the skin on her knuckles. Why was she awake? It was so blasted early, it wasn't even light outside yet. Not even the light of false dawn could be seen peeping through the windows. Not that such a shy halo of light could ever be noticed by any but the most dedicated observer, what with the scorching miasma of poisonous orange light from the city's lamps. Rose half rolled, half fell out of bed, landing in an uncharacteristically graceless heap upon the floor. She threw off her emerald green robe and got to her feet, her heart fluttering.

Something was wrong with Crystal.

The redhead didn't know how she knew this, where the information came from, but somehow she knew that there was something off about her sister. The auburn haired cabaret girl's gut clenched painfully, as if something dark and liquid cold knotted her insides. This was the second time in twenty four hours that she'd dealt with this strange twisting feeling stabbing at her belly. She bit her lip and ignored it.

_He's done something, _the Dark Passenger hissed eagerly. _Something terrible._

_Is anyone dead? _Rose demanded, her voice sounding like hellfire.

Her eyes burned like phosphorescent absinthe in her pale face. In her white pajamas, with her eyes gleaming in the pale wash of the street lights, she looked like a bloodthirsty phantasm. Her red hair took on the appearance of crystallized blood spun out into silken threads. She strode purposefully through her bedroom door and across the Great Room, for once missing the stool she usually tripped over in the night. Every nerve was on high alert, but the Dark Passenger wasn't swimming into the foreground to play. She seemed almost… frightened. There had never been a time since the psychotic clown had grabbed her and basically held her hostage that the inner insanity inside Rosaline Damundo had actually feared the mad man. There had always been cautious respect, the acknowledgement that the crazy man with the painted face was a formidable opponent and could very easily slip into a dangerous mood and attempt to kill them both, Rose and her Dark Passenger. But there had never been fear that he might succeed in killing them, only that he might try, and it had been more like worry kissed by savage anticipation rather than true fear.

Now she stopped in her tracks, every hair standing on end, buzzed by static animal instinct, a warning shriek that there was danger, immediate danger. She shifted her weight, balanced on the balls of her feet. She clenched her hands, catching the loose fabric of the billowing white sleeves of her pajama top in both tightly gripping fists. She scanned the dark Great Room with piercing eyes, reaching out with empathy to feel for her enemy. She didn't shiver in the cold air, but the flesh of her arms was riddled with goose bumps.

The Joker stepped out of the murky shadows, grinning that insane, rictus grin like a clown-corpse. Rose stepped back to give herself more space. In response to that psycho smile, she bared her teeth, which gleamed like white porcelain in the ambience of the street lights filtering through the window. She took another step backwards, her hackles raised. The Dark Passenger lifted its head.

_Do you smell it? _She asked Rose.

_No_, she said.

The redhead shifted perspective, felt the mad personality inside her shove the dominant personality of Rosaline half to the side to make room for the madness. The Dark Passenger slid behind Rose's eyes like cold slime, flooding Rose's senses with information she would never have been able to detect on her own. She could see that the Joker was injured, that his jaw was swelling and his nose was fat in the middle of his face. She sniffed delicately, like a bloodhound, and scented blood, both the clown man's and her sister's. Immediately, something black and insidious swelled up from the pit of her stomach, stabbing shards of ebony ice into her heart, freezing her on the spot for only a second. Then her red rage flared up like a wildfire and consumed the ice, burned through her veins like molten lead, seared the backs of her eyes. If Crystal was hurt- and Rose had no doubt she was- this man was going to die. Forget the fact that he was the Dark Passenger's mate.

_Will you kill him for your rival? Our rival? _The Dark Passenger demanded. Rose snarled inwardly, baring teeth like needles at the creature that swam in the pool of blood in the depths of the vaudeville girl's mind. The Passenger shrieked like a dying harpy and hissed in defiance of its host.

_I do not care if he is our mate and Crystal is our rival, _Rose screamed at the Dark Passenger, her eyes blazing, her heart thundering in her breast. It felt as if her ribs were cracking, desperate to contain the frantic pounding before her life giving organ drilled its way out of her chest and attacked the Joker itself, consumed and animated by the black fury inside the red haired woman. _I do not care! What are we without Sadie, Crystal, and Danni? We are nothing! Don't you care that we're nothing?! We need them! They are our sisters. We must always be together!_

Immediately, Rose wrenched herself out of the pitch black pit where the lake of blood swirled with its eldritch currents and eddies, where the mad thing known as the Dark Passenger resided when she was not in control of the single body she shared with Rose Damundo. The cabaret girl threw her attention back to the current situation in time to see the clown man with his crazy grin take a step toward her. That single step was drenched with malevolence and menace. Rose felt her eyes begin to sting with tears of terror, and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Sharp pain shot from the site of the vicious bite wound and radiated outwards through the entire right side of her face. The copper taste of blood flooded her mouth. Now a tear rolled down her cheek, but it wasn't from fear, but the stabbing, shooting pain. She spat out a tiny piece of her own mouth onto the floor and made a mental note to clean it up when this encounter was over.

"Well, hello, Beautiful," the Joker drawled, smoothing back his hair like some 50s flick Casanova. Rose took another step back, glaring daggers of emerald ice. She ignored the drops of sweat that suddenly popped out on her skin and rolled down her face, tickling her. She suddenly didn't trust this madman at all. Where had the Passenger's instinctive trust of the clown criminal gone?

_He has stabbed Crystal. I smell blood on his knife, and she is within her room, injured, though not fatally. He deliberately missed all of her vital organs and arteries._

_How do you know it was deliberate? _Rose asked the Dark Passenger, backing up another step. The Joker followed that up by taking a step closer to her. She swore silently, wondering if he was deliberately trying to get her to play a game of cat and mouse, wondering if he wanted to play "stalk the singer" until he bored of the charade and attacked her for true, cutting into her with that switchblade of his. The thought made her shiver with anticipation, but the feeling of anticipation made her shudder with disgust. What was happening to her, that she looked forward to violence, saw it as pleasurable? Was he brainwashing her or something?

_We've always loved elective violence, _the Dark Passenger whispered as the Joker took two more steps forward. Rose backed up. The clown man came forward three paces, then three more. There was less than six feet between them. Rose felt her heart hammering violently in her chest, trying to beat its way up her torso into her throat, threatening to choke her.

_Besides, _the Passenger added, and the show girl could practically taste the satisfied smirk in her voice as black silk shadows of the mind unfolded in her brain, sinking into every nook and cranny, crease and crevice, so that the shadow half of Rose's soul was suddenly in almost total control. _Besides,_ she said again_. __Fighting with him would be better than sex. Especially when he sticks that knife into us. Don't you remember how it felt when he penetrated our body with that slick, cold steel? It burned us. Remember?_

_But what about Crystal? _Rose demanded, feeling a scorching flush rising up from her breasts up her throat, across her face into the roots of her hair. She didn't want to think of the knife slicing at her throat, and the soft flesh beneath her chin, scraping like vampire teeth, brushing against her skin like an iron kiss. It made her blood sizzle in her veins. _He stabbed her! What if she dies? We need to go to her. We can't afford to fight this creep right now. And what if he tries to stab us? We could be in a lot of trouble._

_You know you want him to stab you, Rose my dear, _the Passenger replied, and there was a sickening, strangely enticing chuckle beneath those words. The voice in Rose's head was sultry and sinful, like black handcuffs and red velvet, absinthe and white powder sparking in the blood like poison. Something serpentine and sinuous writhed beneath Rose's skin, and her muscles cramped mildly before releasing. The Joker giggled.

"Come out to play, Rose," the clown man snarled, and reached into his pocket. Somehow, the criminal made the oh so benign gesture seem freakishly obscene. Rose felt herself redden, as if she'd been caught looking in the boys' bathroom at the boys going potty. As if she'd been spying on a mad man humping a freshly made corpse. She shuddered, but hated herself for feeling only growing excitement. Her fingertips tingled, and her nose itched. Her eyes darted around, desperate to find a weapon or an escape route. Her heart was in her mouth now, choking her with thick, pumping muscle struggling to flood her body with adrenaline laced blood. Her head began pounding, pain lancing from her temples. The Dark Passenger snarled.

"What have you done to my sister, you sick fr-"

"Better, uh, watch your _mouth-uh_, girly-girl," the Joker snarled, his entire demeanor shifting into one of hideous rage and ugly malevolence. She actually shrank back from him, and found herself backed against the wall. The Dark Passenger whimpered. The clown man continued, now taking strange, little shuffling steps towards her, closing the distance fast, "Don't _say-uh_… the _eff-uh_ woooooord, princessssss. It'sss… a _baaaaaad word_. We don't-_tuh_… use… that wooooooord. Do weeeeee-_uh_?"

He'd known. Somehow, he'd known she was about to call him a freak. Was he trying to protect her from himself? Did he hate that word as much as she did? As much as all the girls did? Why was she trying to find common ground between them when her sister was bleeding out in the other room from a stab wound this crazy clown creep had inflicted?

Something closed, vice-like, around her throat, and suddenly she was wrenched out of her thoughts and into the real world as the Joker's hand began squeezing, intent on crushing her windpipe. She squeaked, grabbed his hand with both of hers, digging her nails in. Blood welled up from where her talons sank into his skin, but nothing else happened. He didn't react to the feel of her claws digging into his flesh and muscles, trying to find bone, trying to find and saw through tendon and sinew. She desperately raked her nails over his skin, frantically trying to destroy his murderous grip on her throat. Lights and alarms were going off inside her head, in front of her eyes. Her heart was shrieking as it hammered like a woodpecker's needle sharp beak at her sternum, making every possible effort to shatter the bones of her ribcage and kill her. Rose stared into those hellion eyes like absinthian fires, like brimstone burning with eerie, phosphorescent light, and felt all the will to fight try to slide out of her. She grabbed it with tooth and claw and slammed it right back where it belonged as she kicked out and caught the psychotic clown in the groin. He fell to his knees, releasing his hold on her neck.

_Third time's the charm, _she thought randomly, wondering why she felt there was some strange truth in these words. She gasped for breath, feeling blessed, ice cold air rushing into her lungs, searing her throat like arctic wind. She didn't care. She lashed out with one foot and caught the clown man on the side of the head. He went down, and didn't move.

Rose fell to the floor, gasping for breath. Where was Sadie? Where was Danni? Why hadn't they come to help her? And why hadn't she called to them? Why hadn't she thought to attack the Joker with her powers? Why hadn't she projected the desperate, overwhelming need to wake up so that Sadie and Danni would come to her rescue?

And what about Crystal?

A purple-gloved hand grabbed her ankle and twisted. Something strained and fire shot up her leg and into her foot when the straining bit of her body suddenly released its tension with a sharp _pop!_ She screamed, but what came out what a wheezing half-sob. She bit her tongue and lunged for the Joker. She saw the knife, saw the predatory gleam in the clown man's eyes as the blade sank into her upper arm and lodged in bone. She snarled, but the no attention-seeking sound escaped her. Rose was suddenly shoved out of her own head and the Dark Passenger was back into play, seizing the best moment to act. The pain in their arm was blinding, but the mad creature lunged forward and sank her teeth into the Joker's shoulder, where tendons stood out, where neck met shoulder. He gasped and groaned, yanking the blade out of her arm. She tasted his flesh, the tang of his sweat, the sweetness of his cologne. Her hot, salt-sweet blood sprayed him in the face. He slammed a fist into her jaw, and she grunted and released her teeth-hold on his shoulder. He slammed a fist into her cheek, splitting the skin. She slammed her own fist into his jaw, twice. The clown man saw stars, and began giggling helplessly. Rose found herself grinning as she twisted and brought her elbow into his eye. She felt the funny bone catch on the bone of his eye socket, numbing her arm.

"Had enough?" She growled.

"Oh, we are so talking now," he hissed between clenched teeth, and grabbed her hair in a brutal grip, hauling on the thick, crimson locks. She cried out and was forced to follow his pull as he dragged her toward him. She thrust out her foot, catching him in the jaw. He cuffed her, and she saw stars. She was still smiling, though she couldn't have said why. The Dark Passenger was giggling like a little girl. He grabbed her by the throat again, but didn't squeeze, only slammed her down to the floor, hard, so that the stars began to dance. She laughed helplessly.

"We're playing a nice game," she mumbled, and his fist sank into her stomach. Her fist smacked into his already swollen, throbbing nose. He grabbed her fist in one hand and sank his teeth into her wrist. She cried out, arching her back, but it wasn't pain that made her squirm. She could feel his tongue laving over her skin, back and forth, a wet, warm caress. He tasted her salt sweat, the soap she bathed with that smelled faintly of magnolias. He stared at her as his teeth tore into her wrist, as blood welled up where his teeth pierced her flawless, ivory skin, tearing it like tissue paper. She whimpered, but not in fear. He groaned into her wrist, tasting the metallic bliss of her adrenaline laced blood.

"You're so dead," she whispered, and twisted, a gymnastic move that contorted her body so that her heel could connect with his jaw. He jerked sideways, his teeth slipping from her skin.

He slid a couple inches across the floor as Rose tried to scramble to her feet. He grabbed her and tripped her, so that she fell back to the carpet as he climbed and scuttled to climb onto her. He slammed her wrists down to the floor, tightening his grip until her bones were grinding together. She bucked and writhed, but he could tell she wasn't trying to force him off of her. It was a show of resistance, nothing more. She was enjoying this, the way her blood flowed, the way his blood dripped onto her face from where his lip and nose bled, the pain radiating from several points on her body. She was fighting him not to fight, but because that serpentine madness, reptilian and alien, cold and insane, knew how to have a good time. Oh, but this was perfect!

"Kiss, kiss, girly-girl," he growled, and slammed his forehead against her mouth. Her teeth cut into her lips, drawing blood that bubbled up between those soft looking lips. He licked at the tiny red rivulets trickling over the soft swell of her lips. "Oh, yeah," he groaned, and kissed her.

She writhed and struggled against his grip, but she kissed him back. His mouth shoved against hers, dominating and ruthless, biting and savage, and she moaned into the kiss. She arched her body against his almost against her will. The Dark Passenger and Rose were united in this one feeling, this all new sensation. To be dominated by this man, this psychotic mad man in face paint who slashed the world to ribbons and burned the remnants to ashes, was a powerful aphrodisiac. They shuddered, Rose and the Passenger, shuddered against him as he bit at her lips, shredding them like rose petals and butterfly wings, until there was nothing but her ripped mouth and the blood. Oh, so much blood, such sweet, salty blood.

He let go of her wrists and wrapped one hand around her throat. The other slid over her body to find the hem of her pajama top. He pushed it up, running his leather gloved fingertips over her cool skin. She whimpered against his mouth.

Ripping his mouth away from hers for a moment, he pulled his glove off with his teeth and spat it on the floor before placing his hand against her belly, tracing the scars he found there with the rough pads of his fingers. His calluses scraped her skin, turning it red. He swept his hand downward, shoving her pajama bottoms down so he could touch the glass-sharp ridges of bone protruding against her paper thin skin where her hips were. Then he reached to where his knife had fallen upon the floor and he gripped the pearl handle in his burning fist. He shifted his weight, tasting her petal soft lips, and sank the blade into her hip, a quarter of an inch deep before it struck bone. She gasped. He began to carefully carve with the switchblade, a difficult job since she was writhing and he wasn't looking at what he was doing. He couldn't- his mouth was otherwise occupied. And her skin was now slick with blood.

"You want_-tuh_ _**more**_, beautiful?" He demanded. She moaned. "This is how it works," the Joker added. "We play, then _**I**_ get what _**I**_ want, and _then_ you get what you want. Understand?"

"Yes," she whispered. Her ear was throbbing but she ignored it. It would go away eventually. She had forgotten all about Crystal, and so had the Dark Passenger. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" He demanded, snarled, and nipped at her lip. The little mewing cry she uttered made his body ache and shudder.

"Yes, Mister… Mister J."

"Good," he snarled, and slashed at her hip twice, deep so that it bled sluggishly. Mister J, huh? He kinda liked that.

He grinned and burrowed his face into the crook between her neck and shoulder. His mouth latched onto the flesh of her neck and sank teeth deep, laving the skin with his tongue. He sucked and sucked, listening to her whimpers and moans as he continued cutting into her. Her hands found his back and stroked the softness of his button down vest.

"Good girl."

And he cut her and cut her. His hand was slick with her blood. It was rolling in beads over the mound of her hip and dripping onto the floor.

"More," Rose was whimpering. He groaned. What a woman. What a monster. She wanted him to hurt her more. Was it Christmas or something? Where was this wonderful gift coming from? If Crystal hadn't been so tired, or if Danni hadn't been asleep, he could've done this with them. But Rose was so much fun as well. Oh, and where was he? Ah, yes. R….

He threw himself off of her to get a good look at his handiwork, but couldn't see it in the dark. He switched on a little desk lamp and saw that through the sheen of crimson blood congealing on her skin, his name stuck out where the skin gaped, slashing mouths hungry for the blood they were losing. His name was carved into the ivory skin of her hip.

_JOKER._

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_Okay, this chapter was written for Julie, as one 1/2 of her Christmas Present. I hope she likes it. I was supposed to have a second chapter up, but I ran out of time and I'm tired and it's Christmas and I wanna sleep. So here's Chapter 19. I'm wondering if I should switch to Rachel again or the men (Bruce/Harvey/Gordon) or tell you guys what happened to Crystal. What do you think? Anyway, this chapter is 7 pages long according to Microsoft Word Processor, and it's 6,001 words. My back and ribs hurt, and I'm sleepy, so goodnight. Reviews make me feel appreciated. Loves to everyone! _

_Merry Christmas, my peeps!_

_PS - Yes, Julie, I totally took the carving name idea from you, but the hip idea I actually got from this girl I know who carved a butterfly into her hip with a safety pin so that when it scarred, she'd have a white butterfly on her hip._


	21. 20 Crystallized

**Chapter Twenty**

**Crystallized**

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Blood.

Her hands were slick with it. It was nearly black beneath her fingernails. It was the only flash of color in the washed out night, where her skin was pale expanses of ivory and her hair was nearly black in the shadows. Her tight pajamas were blindingly white, but seemed almost gray against the shocking whiteness of her skin. The blood, brilliantly scarlet against the paleness of her skin, made her eyes hurt.

"Stop looking at the pretty red stuff and hurry up, this hurts!"

Rose glanced down at the flashing, electric violet eyes of her sister, and snapped, "Shut up, you idiot. If you'd called for me when the fight started, you'd never have been stabbed in the first place."

She pulled on the needle, closing the third stitch. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and her tongue slid between her teeth into her cheek as she concentrated on stitching her sister's wound closed. After checking on the amount of bleeding and then sticking a couple fingers into the wound, she'd decided that going to the hospital was an unnecessary luxury at this point, and decided to sew the wound closed herself.

"You're blaming me for getting stabbed by that fr-" Crystal began. Rose cut her off.

"Watch your mouth, Cryssie," Danni muttered, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her forearm. She had the not so enviable task of stitching the Joker up. Somehow, Crystal had managed to score a deep enough wound on his arm and another on his shoulder. The one on his shoulder, short but deep, had been quickly stitched closed. Now she was working on the gash on his arm, which was still bleeding sluggishly. The killer clown was watching her with a creepy grin and glittering eyes as the needle winked in and out of his tattered flesh.

"Are we not allowed to say the word freak anymore?" Crystal demanded.

Sadie, working at a bizarre angle to poke Rose's flesh with her own suturing needle. The vaudeville girl's pristine white pajamas were soaked dark over her hip where the painted clown man had carved his name into her skin. Sadie was trying to stitch the wound closed but Rose kept moving, kept twitching away from the needle while she worked on the blonde telepath lying still and tense beneath the show girl's skilled, almost surgical fingers.

"No," Rose replied.

"Why not?" The telepath asked. "Just because a clown man in purple moved into our apartment? Now suddenly our special word, the word we've always used to describe each other, our very own word, is considered taboo because of this… this man? What the hell happened to us, Rose? Why are you falling all over this _male_ just because he's perfect for us?"

Crystal tried to move away from Rose, but before she could, Sadie moved and pushed her down, holding her until Rose finished the last suture. Then, finally, the girls let their sister up, and Crystal scrambled away, all flight and fury. Pressing her back against the wall, she glared at her sisters and Danni. She didn't look at the Joker. She knew better. One look at him, and she would fall into that viridian gaze like so much poison, slip into darkness without a whisper of protest. She'd lose herself in his eyes, and she'd be gone, swept up in the maelstrom of the psychotic clown man's personality until there was nothing left of her but broken bits upon the rocks. She wouldn't look at him, not him. Anyone else, any of the girls with their eyes like sparkling fireworks, but not the Joker.

"This isn't fair, Rose. It isn't fair that our life, the life we ripped out for ourselves, ripped out from this disgusting city and its disgusting people, is suddenly turned upside down for this clown man! And for what reason? Because he's perfect for us? So what? What does that have to do with anything?" Crystal was shouting now, her words tumbling out so that she could barely even follow her own argument. Fury was rising off of her in electric waves, shrieking through her veins as she continued yelling, gesturing wildly at the Joker even though she wouldn't look at him. "Rose, he's going to kill us all! Everything's falling apart and don't you see this is crazy? Why are we helping him? Everything will burn! Everything will be destroyed. The city will crumble to the ground, we'll all die, the Mob will be decimated, everything will fall to the ground. It'll all burn," she continued, voice dropping to a broken whisper as she sank to the floor. Her hand slid over her belly, trembling as she thought of the fire, the flame, the inferno.

Sadie crawled towards her, and took her into her arms, holding her older sister as she shivered as if cold. For a long time, there was silence. Then Sadie cleared her throat, and she whispered to Crystal, "Listen to what you just said. Everything will burn. The city, the Mob, the state, all of us. Everything. And then it will just be void. There will be nothing but anarchy, nothing but chaos. Isn't that what we've hungered for, Crys? We've wanted chaos, destruction, mayhem. We want it, to wash away all the death, all the evil, all the injustice. We want bedlam. We want insanity. Isn't all that worth the fire and the flame? Isn't all of that, the achievement of our dreams, everything we wanted… isn't all of that worth the pain of being with the Joker?"

Violet eyes met eyes like acid gold. There was calm acceptance, even hope in that gaze. No fear, no terror, no anxiety. It was strange. The wrongness of Sadie's eyes made something cold shiver beneath Crystal's skin. There had never been a time that the blonde could remember when her younger sister's eyes were not bright with terror. Now there was only calm in the twin lakes of icy gold. Crystal trembled harder, and glanced into her older sister's poison green gaze. In Rose's eyes was nothing. There was only emerald blankness, like bottle green glass, like emptiness. Viridian void. Her eyes were blank and empty. Rosaline would not influence Crystal's decision. She wouldn't let herself. She was hiding her mind and her soul from the world. But Crystal could see the bloody slices in her sister's hip, the almost black lines that formed the damning word: Joker. A label, a brand, a claim. Lastly, she looked at Danni. Even as she watched, the brunette show girl licked the Joker's blood off of her thumb as if it were a splash of frosting or some other sweet thing.

Rage and terror pounded through her temples like blood. It felt as if all of her fury was pushing outward, shredding her veins and arteries, ripping at her flesh, trying to escape and unleash itself. She wanted to scream. The cry of outrage was pounding at her throat, choking her, strangling her with thick, immovable shadow fingers. The fury made her eyeballs boil, her blood bubble in her veins. Everything hurt. Her hands burned. Her mind screamed and clamored like a dying cat, reaching out to rake and claw at the vulnerable minds of those around her, but she beat it back. Everything was blindingly red, like blood. It was all blood, all of it scarlet blood. She gritted her teeth, tasted blood in her mouth. Everything screamed, everyone bled as her fury pounded through her. Rush, rush, ebbing tide and waxing madness, hatred like black lightning. The Good Child was reduced to mindless screams of fear, sobbing tears like black cutting ice. Crystal clamped her lips to stop the cries from escaping her mouth. She wrenched herself from Sadie's pixie frail grasp and staggered to her feet, surrounded by faceless shadows.

Rose watched calmly as Crystal's powers wrapped her up in a cocoon of madness. There was nothing any of the girls could do except shield themselves. Even Sadie's power didn't work on Crystal in this state. But it didn't matter, she thought to herself as she watched the Joker slip out of Danni's grip and get to his feet. He staggered as if drunk, but there was a pattern to how he moved. He was dodging the slashing violet knives of her eyes, moving toward her with dogged determination. His eyes were like viridian hell. His face was split by his rictus grin, brutal in its elegance and charm. Rose felt her heart tripping in her chest, swelling like it had been stung by a thousand poisonous scorpions. Her chest ached as she watched the clown man move towards her sister, switchblade bared like a single, silvery fang in the pale light of the single desk lamp illuminating the great room. The vaudeville girl blinked once, and the purple-gloved hand was wrapped around Crystal's neck.

Crystal felt the grip, the power running through it as it tightened fractionally on her throat. The crimson continued to crash through her mind, slamming into and shattering her barriers, dragging her deeper and deeper into that twisted kingdom of the psyche she feared in her heart of hearts. Everything was fragmenting, shattering, screaming as it exploded into dust and shards of brittle glass like sugar candy. Her head ached, her eyes stung, her body screamed as if it were on fire. Every nerve ending burned, and her heart thudded painfully against her sternum and spine. It felt like her ribs were fragmenting with every beat. She screamed as fire and fury slammed into her like a tidal wave. She screamed and fell into thick, strong, massive arms like steel beams, and they enfolded her. Her blood burned, sizzled, cooking her from the inside. Power, waves and waves of power, thudded through her. The liquid heat of her blood seared her, scorched her. Crimson pain painted her mind, acid red etching into her bones. She clutched at silk, cool under her hands. It soothed the burning, swept away pain in a cloud of violet shimmer. She let her forehead fall and it touched cool skin. She shivered.

"You're mine," a voice snarled, like an animal. A growl caressed her, shuddering over her body like velvet bondage. Her nerve endings shrieked. "Mine," the voice repeated.

Her knees buckled as pieces of her shattered under the onslaught of her own power rebounding back on her. Her ribs popped and cracked, her fingers stiffened. Her joints creaked and burned. The marrow in her bones boiled. She clutched at the solid shadow that held her, that wrapped a leather clad hand around the pale, swanlike column of her throat, and screamed. Her organs fried in her body, and she collapsed into the arms of the shadow as something glinting and wicked sparking sharp pierced her body, right over one collar bone and carved down, a blazing burgundy ravine parting her flesh and spilling ruby wine.

"No," she moaned. "No…."

Burning crimson ran over her pale white skin, and the heat inside her, shredding her to scraps, faded slightly. That sparking talon of cold iron dragged down, parting the flesh of her breast. She shuddered in the shadow's arms, moaned, but it wasn't pain. Her hands found rigid silk that almost cut the heated flesh of her palms. Lines of electric silk pulsed against the flickering feel of her heartbeat that echoed in her palms and wrists. The iron kiss brushed against her ribs, piercing and caressing, a long sweet stroke of silver ice against her feverish skin.

She heard whispers, soft and familiar and soothing, questions, but she couldn't make out words. All there was in her world was the blinding fire, the aching burn in her body, the agonizing heat that tortured and tormented her, and the safe, sable shadow that held her close and cut into her body with his iron fang, tasting the heated blood that beaded, welled up, and flowed like vermillion honeysuckle. Only the shadow, arms crushing her until the breath could barely wheeze past her parched, cracked lips, silver ice shard cutting into her while she moaned in its arms. The fire was oozing out of her, blood flowing quickly, coolness replacing the fire in her veins as she shuddered.

"Mine," the shadow breathed against her skin. His breath was Plutonian, ice cold, frigid as Jack Frost's lethal kiss. "I'll burn you to the ground. Let it all burn. Everything burns. Even you. Even me. Let it burn."

"Burn…." She moaned, her voice a hoarse thread of aching sound.

The sharp ice of silver grey sank into belly, bringing with it a soft, sweet release. The fire was dying, breathed into inhumation by the black ice breath of the shadow. The knife - she realized it was a knife, but vaguely, distantly, barely - drew sideways, slashing her skin. Blood, hot and wicked sweet, ran down her skin in crimson rivulets. She gasped, arched into the blade's touch. The knife withdrew, plunged in again. Midnight fire, cold with erotic sensuality, blazed through her nerve endings as the knife thrust into her, parting her slick flesh. Sweat drenched her forehead, and her eyes sparkled like sugared violets as she stared into eyes like emerald hellfire and felt herself falling forward, her body shuddering as it tensed, winding tight. The knife moved in her, cutting through. Everything was being cut away with the keen edge of that blade. Every pretense, every unconscious lie, was carved away, and her body was cresting a wave, a wave of agonizing pleasure and sweet pain.

"Stop," she breathed, a soft protest against the darkness. It flickered, her protest, like a candle flame in the wind, and then guttered out, a wisp of smoke vanishing on the breeze. The knife plunged into her with a vicious thrust, she cried out, and liquid pain and liquid pleasure flowed as she fragmented into nothingness and sank into oblivion.

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**_So, what do you think? Sorry it took so long. This is a gift for The Queen of All Canines, my bestest friend (besides Nightmare Queen, who won't read my fic for some reason /cry/). You've been patient, and I hope this is everything you hoped. If not, I cry some more. But just so you guys understand my problems, I'm currently on welfare and am unemployed, and Queen of All Canines, who was loaning me her laptop, has gotten in trouble with her dad so now I can only do this while at her house (which is weekends). So bear with me, 'kay? Loves to you all! Reviews?_**


	22. 21 Ever Been Cut

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Ever Been Cut**

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The water sluiced over her like a thousand sleeping fingers, the infinite touches of a thousand whispering, hissing non-entities that were determined to make her remember. She slammed her forehead into the cold tile walls, and flashes of blinding white light exploded in her head, the same brilliant shade as the tiles of the shower stall. The white, that bright white of snow and milk and the paleness of his wrists….

"Stop it," Rachel hissed, and smashed her head into the wall again, trying to beat the images out of her mind. "Stop it, don't think about him." She'd taken her medicine. Why couldn't she get these thoughts out of her mind? They caressed the inside of her aching skull like drunken, intoxicating velvet drenched with absinthe and laced with morphine. Her head ached whenever she tried to force the thoughts of her now-gone savior from her mind. She'd never told Bruce about him, never. She knew he'd never understand how she could run into the arms of a madman, but it didn't matter to her. As long as she refused to think about him, about any of them, she could pretend that they didn't exist, that they had never existed, that there was nothing wrong with her. But the memories, the memories, like whispers, like insidious whispers that screamed softly to be noticed, to be gloried in, to be relived, they burned and kissed and fluttered inside her. Her wrists clenched as her hands tightened into fists. She glanced down, ignoring the pounding spray hitting her hair, dripping water down her face. She shivered as the whispers and shadows teased at the corners of her eyes, kissing at her consciousness. Her wrists were pale, so pale, and she remembered how they had been so white, all of her had been so white and bloodless when her mother had drank herself to death. She remembered how it had seemed as if all of her blood had seeped out of her in the night, leaving her dry and empty, her veins filled with tiny shards of glass no bigger than dust, ground up into poisoned powder and cutting through her veins and arteries in place of crimson blood. She remembered that day at school, so long ago, when she'd been only ten years old, and the broken piece of plastic had sliced so deftly into the fleshy pads of her fingers and swept through the flesh of her palm and the back of her hand….

_So much blood, all of it so dark and so bright, such redness, such a rich color in her voided nothingness, all the colors leached from the world except for that shocking scarlet blood. It ran down her arm, soaked the sleeve of her shirt, crimson edging to the pristine snow white linen. It dripped off of her elbow, pattering tiny droplets like small lakes to the white tiled floor. It pulsed and flowed, etching scarlet lines in her skin. Her skirt soaked up the blood, the cracks of the skin on her knees drank it up like parched earth. Her hair was tacky with it. All of it so red. She was translucent, evanescent, empty, as the crimson blood flowed and flowed, running in sweet, scarlet streams down her flesh._

_Sneakers. Violet Vans, with lime green laces._

_They came into her field of vision, dull and muted but still arresting in the world of sparkling white and blisteringly bright burgundy blood. The lime green laces glittered. Black flames danced along their edges. She looked up, up the dark blue pants and the white button-down shirt that sucked life out of them all with its unlife-whiteness. Her eyes found the Sum 41 sweatshirt, saw the blazing red logo on the black cotton. Her eyes watered, thirsting for life and color. She continued to drink him in with her eyes. Her blood was gone, a lake of red on white tile. The dark flames dancing along this boy's body filled her veins with ebony light. She shuddered as her mouth found his neck, whiter than the tile, bloodless. Blue and red kissed his throat where the translucent flesh showed his blood vessels. Her eyes slid over his pointed, fox-like chin, his smooth cheeks and candy pink lips. They were bloodless pink, like they should've been red and only his undead state made his mouth so cotton candy pink. His nose was straight, with a spray of gray freckles. His eyes burned her, seared away the numbness in her marrow, filled her bones with light and fire the color of the void. Her blood was like frost cutting her veins. Lightning flashed behind his eyeballs._

_"Show me," he demanded. She didn't have to ask what he meant - she knew what he wanted to see. Blood, so bright that it shattered the walls and burned away the ceiling. His eyes sparkled with electric lights and the pale green tints of Easter lilies. She held out her hand, with its slash across the palm and its numerous, tiny red mouths on the back, and the long cut across her wrist, weeping scarlet. Her own eyes, blue-green as a poisonous plant, pale as a dead fish, gleamed like a neon sign. Booze, blood, bitches - all found there, in the hate and acid of her gaze. She could feel the sign etching itself into her forehead - If Empty, Come Here. Her soul ached as he reached down and took the shard of broken plastic, translucent as her skin and as pretty as diamond knives, out of her hand. The razor sharp edge sank into his fingertips, and blood welled up and flowed. A drop of it fell onto her wrist, brilliant against the white. Rachel felt her eyes bleeding in sympathy._

_"Have you ever been cut?" Rachel whispered, but her voice was different, frosted over with ice and white sugar. Her eyes were washed out, pale, lit from within by a pearly sheen. Her face was blank, and only her eyes were alive in their bruised sockets. Her hands shook. Blood made pretty patterns, crimson against ivory. Her eyes bled where his eyes cut at her._

_"Cut?"_

_"By a knife?"_

_"Sharper."_

_His voice was a husky growl. She imagined a dog on a chain, gaunt and angry, baring teeth at the ones who starved it. The voice didn't fit with the golden curls that framed his pale face, didn't seem right to be coming from that candy pink mouth the color of bubble gum. His tongue was red, his lips pink. His voice was black as pitch, ready to ignite in the heat of some unknowable knowledge, something Rachel's intuition told her would be delicious and delirious. Nervously, she licked the corner of her mouth, tasting the sting and the blood from where the plastic had kissed her like a boy. The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of orange-mint Tic-Tacs. He popped a couple in his mouth. His bleeding fingers left tiny smears of red across his mouth. She wondered what blood, mint, and orange tasted like. Was it tangy and delicious? Was it like absinthe and salt, or arsenic and lace?_

_"Sharper?" She asked him. She felt stupid. She ought to know what he meant. There was something in his eyes that made her mind ripple and her head sing. Her blood was cold and thin as it poured out of her. Everything was a dream. "Sharper?"_

_"Like ice. Ever been cut by ice?"_

_He didn't mean the kind of ice that was frozen water. She knew that by the way he said ice. "Aye-suh." It wasn't ice, but ice. The kind of ice that was everywhere. She saw it, and she realized he could too. It was the ice that covered her mother's eyes when she died, covered her mother's grave and her father's face and her friends' mouths so that the cold was everywhere, all around, numbing her. Blood warmed her, the cool sweet blood that was still warmer than the ice, so it steamed in the air._

_"Yes."_

"Yes... shut up!"

Rachel screamed, and threw herself against the wall away from the faucet. She threw her weight against the wall. Her breasts and her belly hit the tiles with wet slaps that stung like a palm to her face. She sank to the floor of the shower, hair hanging around her in a curtain of dark, dripping wet threads. The water beat at her, belts and hands and fists of clear, diamond hard water pounding into her flesh, bruising her fair skin. She was a princess, but she didn't have those hundred mattresses. Only the air, only the thin, cold air to buffer the blows. And Jack... she had had Jack, once, a long time ago. Jackie-boy, John-Jack, Captain Jack....

"He's here, Rach." It was the soft, ice cold voice of Maggie murmuring in her ears. The shivering brunette shook her head, clapping her hands over her ears to block out the damning words. No, no, no. There was nothing, no one. Never, ever, not ever. There was no Jack, never had been a Jack. Middle school and high school and college had passed by without so much as a mention of Jack Napier, the man who had plunged his switchblade into Matthew Dawes' bloated beer belly for daring to touch his daughter... there was no Jack Napier. No Jack Napier, no. No Jack. No Jack. No Jack. There was Bruce, and Harvey. There was Alfred. There was Matthew Dawes, the man who's semen had forged her DNA but who would never be considered her father. There was Maggie, and all the thousands of hellish voices that the ice-eyed figment kept at bay. There were all these. But there was no Jack Napier. Rachel repeated this to herself over and over again, trying to drown Maggie out as she crooned in a sing-song voice, "Don't lie to yourself, Rachel. What about the card? Do you remember the card on your dash board? It was a Joker card. You've seen the videos. You've seen what the Joker has done. You recognize the neon eyes like poison. There is no cure for that poison, Rachel. You and I both know that. We can never be cured of wanting to be cut by the emerald knives dipped in absinthian venom. We will always be sick for it, Rachel. We will always need it. Always crave it. Always dream of it. We recognize those eyes. We remember them. Eyes that have been cut. Eyes that cut. Don't deny it, Rachel. You know we're sick."

"I'm not sick, dammit," Rachel hissed, scrunching up in on herself. The water pounded the crown of her head. Water ran in streams down her face, dripping off the raised flesh beneath her eyebrows and the point of her nose. "I'm not sick. I'm getting better. Leave me alone! I'm on medication. Leave me alone!" She screamed this last, kicking out at the faucet in an attempt to turn it off. She managed it, but not before the sharp metal sliced through the thin flesh of her foot. Blood welled up and ran like a river. The ADA stood up on shaky legs, her knees doing their best to knock together, and got out of the shower. The blood was bright against the whiteness of the bath tub, stark as reality against the creamy bathroom tile on the floor, sickeningly scarlet as it rolled in rivulets over her pale skin. The pain sliced through her, throbbed and kicked at her to demand her attention. She ignored it and grabbed a black towel of the wrack, anxious to scrub away the tainted residue of memor.

"Rachel...." Maggie whispered her name, a sinful invitation. "Rachel? Rachel, Rachel...."

"Shut up," she hissed.

"Have you ever been cut, Rachel?" Maggie demanded. Other voices chimed in.

"Rachel's been cut...."

"Cut, cut, cut...."

"Bleed, cut and bleed, cut and...."

Voices, so many voices, shrieking in whispers, screaming like a spring breeze across soundless chimes. All of them demanding she remember, she think, she ponder, she reminisce. She didn't want to think about him. If she did, her need would rise, sharp as a knife blade and hungry as a starving cobra. Don't think about it. Don't think about the curls against her cheek as he leaned over her, moving her to suit him, as they played with the glittering sharpness of razorblades and the slimy amphibians squirming with pain and fear. Don't think about those candy pink lips the color of unlife moving over her mouth as kids scream because the park trees are burning all around them, because fiery claws are reaching out to snag their Halloween costumes as Rachel tastes blood and mint-orange TicTacs and anarchy. Don't think about Paulie Talcov screaming that he'll never try to goose Rachel again if only Jack will stop _hitting_ him with his own lacrosse stick and don't think about how Jack didn't stop until the stick is broken and Paulie is bleeding and whimpering. Don't think about Jack.

Don't think about Jack Napier.

Don't think about Jack.

Don't think about him.

Rachel shuddered with the phantom memory of that first blazing, tangy, bloody kiss, and wrapped herself in her thick purple bathrobe so she could go out and put her clothes on. Harvey would be by to pick her up for dinner soon. She had to be ready. She couldn't let him know how she felt. Couldn't let Harvey, Gotham City's white knight, see her and see that Maggie wasn't keeping the voices at bay. Why had she agreed to take that medication, anyway? It wasn't working. She was still seeing everyone. She was still seeing Maggie. But at least when she could see Maggie, she could count on her other half to beat the other pieces of herself back into the abyss of her psyche. Maggie was better than any medication. She wasn't going to take it anymore. It was a waste of time and money.

Pushing open the door to her bathroom, she came out into her master bedroom and froze. On the bed was a beautiful dress, all burgundy silk and chiffon and satin, with a plush velvet coat draped over her bed beside the dress. There was even a burgundy velvet purse and pumps the color of burgundy wine. Even makeup- lipstick, blush, eyeshadow, nail polish - was set up on the white wicker nightstand beside her bed. The dress and accessories were like spilled arterial blood against the pale creaminess of her sheets.

On the dress, pinned to a blood red rose, was a Joker card. Typed on the glossy surface of the card were the words, "Have you ever been cut?"

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_Okay, new chapter. What do you guys think about Rachel? For now, Rachel's not really an actiony part in 5 Queens. It's not until Harvey's taken into custody that she takes a more active role. But we will be following her throughout the first half of the movie, and we will see more and more glimpses of her descent into nuttiness, her involvement, relationship, and history with Jack Napier/Joker, and how she deals with not one, not two, but three men in her life, all of whom are less than friends._

_Reviews, please?_

_**Disclaimers**: I own nothing. That whole thing about the mint-orange TicTacs and would it taste tangy and delicious is inspired by the movie "Juno." Juno says that Paulie Bleaker's mouth tasted tangy and delicious because he downed mint-orange TicTacs. The whole conversation about being cut is a paraphrase from "The Snow Queen" with Bridget Fonda. "Arsenic and Lace" is a play that was later made into a movie._


	23. 22 Lachysis and Klotho

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
Lachysis and Klotho**

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Okay, this wasn't so bad. This wasn't anywhere near as bad as she had thought it would be. Everything in her had screamed and rebelled against the very idea of going out of her apartment in that dress like silken blood clinging to her skin, with the Joker card tucked inside her wallet with the other one that she'd found on her dashboard. She ought to have told Harvey about that first card. She ought to have told Bruce. She ought to have called the police and asked Jim Gordon to look into it personally. But she hadn't wanted to do any of those things. She didn't want to draw attention to Jack... er, the Joker. She didn't want people to think that he'd singled her out. He didn't have a reason to, after all. There was no reason for Gotham's very own psychotic clown man to single out the Assistant District Attorney. Even the Mob hadn't gone after Rachel specifically. There was no reason for there to be any singling out. Instead, she'd put on the red dress, done her makeup, and styled her hair. The dress fit like a dream. Now she wanted to try the shoes.

Rachel slipped her feet into the soft pumps and sighed, luxuriating in the feel of the butter soft leather gripping her feet. Perfect arch support, perfect heel incline, perfect width at the balls of her feet. How had he known how she liked her shoes? These were nice. These were very nice. More than shoes, these were designers, Guccis. How had the... the visitor to her place managed to afford these? They had to be a thousand dollars, easy. She lovingly caressed the gleaming, burgundy leather with a gentle fingertip.

_(".... Wear those. You look killer....")_

Shaking herself, she brought her mind back to the present. The words shivered through her skull like black lace butterflies, but she ignored them. She didn't want to think about those words. She didn't want to think about the last time she'd worn real heels, real ones, the kind that she loved and that fit like a glove, that spiked at the tips and gleamed in the light. She didn't want to consider her life and what it had been like when she'd been in heels and silk and velvet, with a black leather jacket that smelled of smoke, gun powder, and-

"Leave me alone, Maggie," she commanded angrily, softly, under her breath. Harvey shot her a quizzical look, but she hastily ducked her head as she picked up the velvet coat and slipped it on, shielding her face with her carefully styled hair. The light caught the waves of her dark brown hair, gleaming. Softer, a bare breath of sound that no one but herself would be able to hear, she hissed, 'Nothing you put in my head is going to change my mind. I don't know anything. I don't remember anything. Okay? Now shut up. Leave everything else out of my head. The only thing you need to concern yourself with is the fact that we're going on a nice date with Harvey, and nothing is going to spoil it. Understand? Everything is fine. Leave us... leave _me_ alone, okay?"

"I'm not the one putting ideas into your head, Rachel-girl. You need to come to grips with what you want. You know what it is. Now just deal with it. Accept it."

"You're nuts, and leave me alone. Do not ruin this for me."

"Only crazy people talk to themselves out loud," Maggie whispered. Her lips brushed like a phantom caress against Rachel's ear.

The ADA shivered and bit her tongue until she tasted the copper sweet tang of blood. She couldn't let Harvey see how shaken she was, but her hands trembled as she tried to fasten the buttons of her coat. She sucked in a breath, trying to swallow the sob attempting to squirm its way up out of her throat. She could feel hands on her back, but not Harvey's warm, rough and callused hands. These were ice cold, slim as willow wands, and felt deeper than bruises and breath, a crushing weight on her lungs that threatened to squeeze the air out of her body. She struggled not to hyperventilate as the hands pushed through her skin, gripping her heart in a tight, two-handed fist. Her head spun. Somehow, for some reason, she smelled that intoxicating scent, the perfume like thorns chewing at her brain and nerves and sanity. Her heart labored, struggling to beat, as that smell swirled around her, sucking her down into scotch-colored miasmic fog, thick and tangible and all too real. Her lungs screamed for air.

_("... breathe, okay? Just breathe. Smell their fear. They're so scared. Taste the sweetness of anarchy...." His voice like burning embers smoldering in her chest, calling to her with symphonic screams, kissed and licked over her ice cold, ice white skin like flames. She shivered with the burning chill as everything began exploding around her, raging infernos blazing, wildfires bursting like fireworks in the night, and the screams were like chears to her....)_

"Rachel! Rachel!"

Rough, warm hands shook her, and her gaze focused, tightened, brought her back to herself. She blinked rapidly and looked up into Harvey's warm, golden-green eyes, took in the worried tightness of his mouth, into the concerned face she loved so well. She gasped for breath, let out a shaky little laugh. Maybe she needed those meds after all. Damn, she'd been hoping Maggie could keep the vicious voices and fractured fragments of herself at bay. She needed something else. She needed to talk to Dr. Santiago, needed to get something like the medicinal walls that kept out everything that wasn't supposed to be there. As for now, she could only breathe. Breathe, and remember nothing. Breathe, and pretend that she was fine, that everything was okay. Breathe....

_(.... she couldn't catch her breath because he has it, couldn't breathe, couldn't drag in any air and her lungs were screaming for mercy as a mouth like spun glass and poisonous truths moved over hers. Fire burned, within and without, as everything around them turned to sweet ash on the wind and he whispered against her mouth, "Breathe, Rachel. Breathe Maggie. Breathe....")_

"Rachel?" His voice, not that voice like wood smoke and scotch. This voice was sweet, like spring. She was all right. She was back in herself, back in the real world, back in the present. She wasn't going to lose herself, not now. Harvey was here. Her anchor, her cornerstone. She was all right. Everything was fine. She watched the shape of Harvey's mouth shift as he murmured her name again. "Rachel? Rachel, are you all right? Wake up. What's wrong? What is it?" He cupped her face in his hands, cradled her face in the rough velvet of his hands. Immediately, she felt relaxed, safer than she'd felt since college, since Ja-

"I'm okay, Harvey. I just... suddenly I couldn't seem to catch my breath."

"You had another attack? Is it the medication?"

"Could be," Rachel replied, feigning nonchalance. She smiled at him, a real smile that reached her eyes and revealed her dimples, but her chin quivered. It was hard to keep her features smooth. Everything was pulling at her, struggling with her to drag her down into an out of control spiral. She shivered, but not with fear. More fatigue than anything. How many times could she use her own force of will to pull herself out of the things she was forced to see? Rachel couldn't help the little snake of apprehension slithering up her spine as she thought about how tired her mind was. She wasn't sure how long she could keep this up, but the medicine wasn't working, and Maggie wasn't helping her when it came to her social life.

"Maybe we should stay in tonight. We could watch a movie or something."

"No," she protested, putting her arms around him. "No, no, I don't wanna do that. Don't worry, Harvey, I'm fine. Come on, let's go. I want to go dinner. It'll be awesome." Fighting to hide the trembling in her hands and knees, she grabbed Harvey's large, gentle hands in hers and tugged him insistently to the door, smiling and forcing a laugh. He grinned at her, but it seemed a little strained. He still let her lead him out of the apartment. Before she shut and locked the door, she looked back once and saw Maggie sitting on the bed in the same crimson dress swathing Rachel's own body, her legs crossed at the knees, fingers laced beneath her chin. Her eyes like ice glittered knife sharp and her smile was like acid. Rachel jerked back and slammed the door.

She ran to catch up with Harvey... and to escape the promise in Maggie's eyes.

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_So, I was on a deadline, and had to shove this out real fast. It took me a few hours, and it was going to be longer, but then I came to a good stopping line and I was like... dang. Gotta end the chapter right there, I gotta. So I did. But I'm gonna try and get a better chap out soon, okay? Loves to you all. Toodles! And the title, "Lachysis and Klotho," is inspired because Rachel is flashing between the past and the present, and Lachysis and Klotho are the Greek Fates of the past and present. I thought it fit with the other two Greek God chapters - Mnesmonyne and Lethe, and Hypnos and Morpheus. That's what they were called, right? Anyway, signing off now. Bye! =D_

_Reviews?_


	24. 23 Confrontations

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
Confrontations**

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They awoke in the same instant, all four, and knew there was something different within them. They could feel each other as instant awareness washed over them all like the waves of the sea. Pain, and sleepiness, and a languid feeling of dread, as if some tenebrous nightmare from the hell dimensions beneath the bed were coming to grab them and devour them, but they couldn't bring themselves to really care right then. They were all huddled in a sweaty tangle of arms and legs on Rose's great big bed with its viridian sheets of Egyptian cotton, their hair mingling in silky threads of blood auburn, silvery gold, jet black, and gleaming brown. Four sets of eyelashes fluttered, eight butterflies with ice white, gold, ruby, and sable wings of exquisite lace, and suddenly immediate awareness of the Joker's presence in their home ripped them from the lethargic dregs of sleep. They sat upright, all four, Rose and Crystal and Sadie and Danni.

Rose put her hand to her hip where the thick, rigid slashes spelled out "Joker." He had marked her. She had _let_ him. What had she been thinking? How could she have let that psychotic killer clown put his mark in her skin? When it healed, it would show for certain. Everything would show. And suddenly the pain of every injury she'd sustained in the last thirty-six hours washed over her. Her body went rigid, her spine bowing as her muscles clenched, painful and merciless. Her ear throbbed with crackles of white hot lightning pain, her neck burned where the point of his knife had cut her skin. Her throat felt ragged and bruised because of the leather glove that had wrapped around it so carelessly and squeezed. She shuddered at the thought of those cool, steel-strong fingers pressing hard into her skin, crushing the delicate lace of veins and ripping tiny blood vessels so that black pain and crimson blood pooled beneath her skin. She hated the shiver of anticipation, the thrill of it sinking into bones. How could she think like that, after everything she had done? She bit her lip, wincing at the swollen, tender feeling and the sharp stab of discomfort her teeth brought. She ignored the uncomfortable feeling, bit down harder. She wanted to feel the pain, wanted to remember that pain hurt, pain was bad, pain was not what she wanted to feel. Pain was not pleasure, pain was pain. She wrapped her arms around herself, wincing at the strain of aching muscles, and hugged herself hard. Her fingers bit into her arms. Bruises began breathing into life. The redheaded vaudeville girl shivered again. Her nerve endings buzzed.

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You're weak.

Rose shuddered and straightened up, grinding her teeth behind pursed lips. The Dark Passenger, so helpful when in the midst of chaos and turmoil, who had deserted her when she'd been sucked down into sleep, was back now. It was back in the foreground of Rose's mind, anxious to put in its two cents, itching to tell its host why she was inferior, why she was insignificant. Irritation swamped Rose, and she clenched her fists, snarling inwardly at her own personal inner demons. She was sane. She was all right. She was just fine. She wasn't weak. She was not weak.

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You're weak! Admit it!

What do you know about it? You're just a figment of my psychosis. You don't exist. You're not real. So what the flying frack do you know about me supposedly being oh so weak? Huh? What?

I know that you are frightened of the one man who can understand you completely. You fear him. You would reject our mate, our perfect mate, because of a few self-doubts peeping in at you in the darkness before dawn. That is what I know. You fear the Joker, you stupid, weak-willed girl. You fear so much - too much. How dare you call yourself strong, and yet feel terror at the very thought of the man who is just like us?

He is not like us. He's insane.

So are we, Rose.

Doing everything in her power to suppress the shivers of revulsion wracking her body, trying to ignore the strange sense of rightness that the Dark Passenger's words instilled in her, Rose glanced frantically around, trying to alight her eyes on something to distract herself. She was not insane. Her hold on reality, on lucidity and knowledge, was a fragile thing, but she strengthened it with her willpower, with her sheer iron will, forcing herself to remain in the real world, to struggle, to survive, to help herself and her siblings. She was not weak. She was not mad. She was fine. She was fine. She repeated these words in her mind as she scanned her sisters' faces, Danni's face, for some sign of fear. Her eyes drank in every detail, storing it away for study when she was calmer, more awake. She glanced around, and found a pair of terrified, electric violet eyes.

"What have we done?" Crystal whispered, looking at her older sister. "What the hell have we done?"

The blonde trembled, quaked so violently that Rose thought she might come apart. Her violet eyes were flashing with lilac sparks of light, slashing from side to side as if in a panic. Her breathing came more and more rushed, more and more shallow. Her eyes glittered like empty glass. Her face washed out to ashen ivory, her lips like candy and her eyes like purple glass knives the only color in her face. Her shoulders began to shake. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, and crimson tears of pain welled up, dribbled down her chin. Her eyes met Rose's absinthe gaze, now empty of any emotion but the utter blankness of shock. Crystal felt icy coldness swamp her when she looked into her sister's eyes. Everything was so mixed up now. Everything was ruined. What had they done? What had happened to them? Why had they allowed this killer clown to just waltz into their lives and take everything over? Were they finally losing their minds? Crystal felt her eyes burn in their sockets. Jagged glass dust pricked at her eyes, and tears welled. Her heart skipped a beat. She hated to cry. She had done enough crying as a child. She was done crying. She would not cry!

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It's okay to cry.

The Good Child pulled at Crystal's consciousness, but the blonde cabaret girl ignored her. She slammed her fist down on her thigh as hard as she could, and shockwaves of pain blasted through her leg from knee to hip. She felt her eyes clear, and her chin was no longer quivering. Calm descended, numbing and icy as deep winter. Her blood froze in her veins. Her cells crystallized, her hair frosted. She opened her eyes and smiled. Her smile was like a razor blade of jagged ice tinged pink by blood.

Rose wondered absently how Crystal could utilize pain to get her game face back on so quickly.

"Sadie, is he doing something to us?" Danni asked softly, pulling Crystal into her arms. The blonde laid her head on Danni's thin shoulder, ignoring the bony spikes pushing into the side of her head. Danni focused her cobalt blue eyes on the youngest Damundo girl, wondering if the painted man had been screwing with them this whole time, whether he was using some sort of psychic ability to screw with their heads. He was a charismatic and charming, seductive and vicious man. He kind of reminded the brunette of Hitler, except much cuter.

"How can you apply the word 'cute' to that psy-"

"Watch your mouth, Crystal," Rose replied sharply, before the middle Damundo could complete the question. "Quit eavesdropping on people's minds. And don't say stuff about the Joker like that. If he's listening, we could be in trouble."

"We're already in trouble, Rose," Crystal replied, pushing herself away from Danni. The blonde slid off the bed and began pacing back and forth. Like Rose, Crystal's fingers were shoving their way into the flesh of her upper arms, bruising them darkly. "We're in so much freaking trouble, we're probably dead and don't even know it yet. Do you have any idea what we've done? We've barely been able to make it as it is, with just us. We are screwed. We are so screwed. It's not like we have anyone we can go to for help, either. Don't think I don't know that, Rose, because sure as hell I do. Rachel can't be trusted, not anymore. Not even Bruce. We're screwed. We are stuck in this big, black pit with no way out and what are we supposed to do, Rose?"

Tears were back in those violet eyes, eyes now glimmering with frantic energy. She shuddered, and kept pacing, her head down, her hair falling around her face to hide her expression. She stifled a sob. Her position in life had always been so precarious, her balance on the edge of sanity even more so. Now she could feel them both slipping away from her, slipping through her fingers like sand through a sieve. She could feel her walls beginning to crack, the foundations to crumble. She could feel everything beginning to fall apart, and it made her heart leap into her mouth, threatening to choke her. How could she have let that freak put his knife in her body? It had been so amazing at the time, but now all she could feel was horror, horror and hatred and hurt that her sisters had let it happen to her. How could she have allowed herself to submit to the clown man? Wasn't she supposed to be Crystallina Phoebe Damundo, the protector, the guardian? She submitted to no one and yet... and yet....

"He's not influencing us. This is all us. Before anyone panics," Sadie murmured, brushing her hair from her face with a trembling hand. "We should try to relax."

"I AM RELAXED!!" Crystal yelled.

The other three merely looked at her, and she looked away, running her hands through her hair, wrenching it into a violently tangled cloud. Her eyes glittered with tears, but she blinked them back and looked back at her sisters and her friend. Sighing, she gestured to Sadie, a silent admission that the dark haired, pixie-faced girl was right and that they all needed to relax. Checking the clock on the wall, then glancing at the window of Rose's bedroom, the blonde woman realized something else as well.

"Rose, don't you have to go to work at the office today? It's Wednesday, right?"

The auburn haired woman jerked her head around to stare at the clock for a moment in disbelief, then leapt to her feet and bolted to her closet.

"I can't believe this," she muttered, her heart fluttering in her ribcage. "I cannot believe this. I can't believe I slept in that late." Glancing again at the light of dawn peeking between the dilapidated buildings of downtown Gotham, she turned her attention back to the clock. It was after five in the morning! She was supposed to be at work in less than an hour and a half. She was in so much trouble! She grabbed a white button-down blouse and black skirt she'd bought at Sears- she wasn't proud, she shopped non-brand-names - and hastily slipped out of her pajamas and into her office clothes. She didn't wear panty hose. Bruce didn't care. He let her wear what she wanted as long as it was business casual. It had been a huge favor, a hundred fold repaid, when Gotham City's playboy offered his star dancer not just a job at the Queen of Swords, but a job as a receptionist and data entry specialist at Wayne Enterprises. Now she had the ability to pay her bills, as well as take care of her sisters. Danni helped out too, as a call center operator. Sadie and Crystal were too volatile to be put in a normal work environment. They'd explode. Crystal would probably kill a few people. Sadie would destroy the city.

"Calm down," Danni told her. "You're not going to be late. You're fine." The brunette grabbed Rose's black sandals from the floor beside the bed and her black leather purse from the nightstand and then grabbed her sister. "Calm down. Stop being so... so frenetic. Everything is fine. You're dressed. Just skip the make up and you'll be ready in time."

"I can't exactly skip the makeup. I look like I've been mugged," Rose reminded them. The three exchanged a look, realizing it was true. The makeup from the previous night had washed away in the shower. The raggedly stitched remnants of her earlobe, as well as the cuts and bruises covering her face were a little hard to miss. Luckily, the sleeves of her blouse covered the dark bruises that leather gloved hands had put on the delicate skin of her arms. But surely four capable show girls could handle one woman's makeup crisis in less than an hour.

Danni grabbed Rose and Crystal grabbed Rose's makeup kit, which had also been on the nightstand. She kept makeup on hand at all times - they all did - because the routine of powder, paste, and polish soothed them, allowed them to function. It was routine. Routine was good. The redhead's sisters and best friend descended on her with looks of almost fiendish glee, and she blinked up at them, a strange mix of dread and resignation tingeing her expression.

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"I can't believe you guys managed this in less than half an hour," Rose murmured as she slipped on her sneakers. Her sandals were safely tucked inside her purse, along with her taser and driver's license. It was sheer stupidity to put on heels before you had to. Glancing in the mirror, she smiled. Her elegant cheek bones were highlighted by pale powder and softly rosed blush. Her hair was brushed and teased, her eyelashes glittered with midnight green mascara, and electric green silk-powder framed her eyes. Her lips glistened with Vanilla Frost, and her nails were French-tipped with palest green. She loved the way she looked. She loved it. But she could barely muster the strength to grab her keys and leave her bedroom. She wanted to stay. She didn't want to leave her so-safe cocoon, the haven of her bedroom, to out and deal with the world. She didn't want to leave the only place where people had her back, where she could rely on the people around her. But unfortunately, she had to go to work. Even more unfortunately, she had to make it past the Joker and out of the apartment, first.

"He won't stop you," Danni murmured.

"How do you know?" Rose demanded.

"Let him try," Crystal snarled, baring her teeth in a rictus grin freakishly similar to the painted clown man's. Her eyes glittered like bloodthirsty knives of jagged violet glass. "If he does, I'll take a knife to him. Play carve-the-Jack-O-Lantern with his face."

"You mean like someone did already?" Danni asked. The other woman made a face at her friend. The brunette simply smiled placidly and waited for the rejoinder.

"Okay," Crystal continued. "Then I can play chop-chop with his peck-"

"Crys!" Rose snapped. "That's disgusting!"

"I've always found it relaxing, even invigorating. Seeing them scream as I saw through their peck-"

"Crystal!"

"Okay, okay. Fine. We'll go out together, a show of strength. He might be smart enough to not be intimidated by that, but just in case, in can't hurt. We're strongest when we're together, remember? So let's just walk out together and face him head-on. Right? Right." Crystal shoved her hair out of her face, running her fingers through the pale gold strands. She sighed, squared her shoulders, and reached out to grasp the doorknob. Rose grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back. "What?"

"Did you sense him?"

"No," she murmured back, softly. "I wasn't trying to. Besides, he's fairly elusive when he wants to be. I don't bother anymore. He blocked me the whole time since he picked us up at the Queen."

"Always check," Rose reminded Crystal, the gentlest of reproofs.

The middle Damundo sister hastily averted her eyes, trying to keep ice in her veins. She had to be cold. She had to be. If she couldn't sense the clown man, that meant he could be anywhere in the apartment. She could not afford to be out of control of herself for even the smallest moment. Otherwise, the painted killer clown would seize the advantage and dive in, swooping in for the kill shot. He'd invade her mind, warping it, twisting it, until she belonged completely and solely to him. He would take her over, body and soul. She would be his slave. All this, from a single moment of loosely guarding her mind, of shielding herself behind the thickest, iciest walls she could construct.

The very idea terrified her.

"Rose?"

Danni's voice broke the stifling tension. The brunette could feel the feline part of herself, that cold, calculating, cat-like killer piece of her mind uncurling from the fetal ball in which it slept, luxuriating in the freedom she allowed it inside her head. Unlike the others, she was very well adjusted. She didn't fear the madness in her brain. On the contrary, she encouraged it, allowed it to flourish. And now it was rising, stretching, readjusting itself, and padding forward on silent beast paws, claws just barely sheathed, anxious and eager to take part in the confrontation it sensed was coming. The show girl barely managed to keep from curling her lips back and baring her gleaming white teeth in an animal snarl.

"What?" The red haired woman muttered distractedly, staring at the doorknob. Her heart was struggling to crawl out of the sea of her stomach acids, squirm up her esophagus, and bleed out of her mouth. It pounded and hammered, trying to crack her sternum, shatter her ribcage. Her heart wanted _out_ of the stupid, weak shell that kept it from leaping out towards the one man who could hold it in his hands, crush it to gushing, bloody pulp, devour it, burn it to soft, white ashes like lace and sea foam. She wanted to rush out of the door to her bedroom and launch herself at the Joker's feet, beg him for more - more pain, more bloodshed, more fire and chaos. Everything seemed to take on an edgy, dreamy quality, blurred and out of focus, duller than a dull blade, when she was near him. It was a dangerous feeling, she could sense that in her very marrow. But that didn't eliminate the seductiveness of the sensation.

"Is he out there?" Danni demanded.

Rose started guiltily. She actually hadn't thought to scan with her empathy for the clown prince of crime. She was too busy mooning like a lovesick girl to have any useful thoughts in her head at that moment. Slipping the tip of her tongue between her back teeth and biting down hard until she tasted blood, she forced herself under strict control and pushed back into her mind. Unfortunately, she needed the Dark Passenger's help for this. The price of psychic ability was madness. By sheer strength of will, she'd kept from going insane all these years, more than two decades spent saddled with the Dark Passenger that urged her to do the most unspeakable things, just so the madness inside her brain could bathe in bright burgundy blood. But the call was always there, the vicious whispers begging her to take that final step and descend, simply jump in and plummet into the black abyss of mercurial madness that defined the Dark Passenger and everyone and everything like it. Rose had to walk that fine line, tiptoe on the tight-rope, holding tight to the rails of the chasm bridge lest she fall and become everything she'd spent her life trying to avoid turning into. She did not want to be just another psycho, just another crazy mob squeeze who liked slaughter and screams. She wanted to be herself, sane and normal and-

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Normal? If you're going to start lying to yourself at that level, I'm not going to even think about helping you, Rosaline. Psht! Normal. Who ever heard that kind of crap? You, normal? You're mad as a hatter. That's why he wants you. That's why he wants us. If you were normal, he would've butchered us like a couple of pigs, slit our throats and left us squealing in our own blood as we drowned in it-

__

Stop it! Are you trying to scare me?

In the distance, the redhead could see the black sand shore that led to the pool of dark blood, cold as ice but still fresh and flowing. The shore frightened her. She was rarely afraid of her own mind, but right now, with that new factor, that new variable in a purple suit and white clown makeup, she couldn't trust the Passenger, couldn't trust the place where the Passenger lived. It was too nightmarish, too hypnotically devious, too deceptive and shadow-stricken. She wanted to run, wanted to turn around and race away, back into the part of her mind where the sun was not silver and the moon was not redder than blood, where there was more than the barren, Plutonian shore of glass-jagged jet black rocks and the tide of crimson and black arterial blood. She could feel her legs trembling, her knees knocking, feel the muscles of her legs and feet clenching in anticipation of the run, the galloping run to escape everything that this hellish nightscape place represented. Was it better, doing this, risking her mind and her tentative grasp of reality, than to simply say "to hell with this" and barge into the great room of her apartment, swaggering and strutting, screaming confidence with every move? Did it really matter that the Joker might be in that other room? Did it matter, when even worse things resided here, in this black beach world, where primordial darkness vomited out the things of her nightmares and drove her deeper and deeper into madness?

"You look nervous."

She nearly screamed. Her heart body-slammed her sternum, and her breath shrieked and leapt back into her lungs, beating at the fragile organs with fists of iron fear. She shuddered, coughing, wheezing, struggling to breathe, even as she hastily backed away from the pale figure who had come upon her, taking her completely unawares. She choked on a scream, on saliva, and kept backing away. Somehow, she'd become barefoot in her mind, and jagged slivers of black rock sliced into the delicate, exposed flesh of her feet. Blood stained the rocks a black that was darker than black, a frightening ebony that bled into ultraviolet and infrared. It made her eyes burn to look at it, but looking anywhere was better than looking at the Dark Passenger, who had risen up out of its sanguine sea to greet its other half.

"Something wrong?" The Dark Passenger murmured, smiling politely. There was a wicked gleam reminiscent of children's mischief in the phantasmagoric creature's eye, impish as a djinn but a thousand times more deadly. The smile cranked upward, revealing sharp teeth that looked too numerous, too long, and too pointed to fit into a human mouth. Rose shuddered. She'd never seen the Passenger look this way before, so predatory, so monstrous. The eyes, like absinthe and death, were narrowed to serpentine slits in the bone white face. The hair glistened like crystallized blood spun into silken threads.

"N-no…." Rose stuttered, trying desperately to avoid swallowing her tongue. Her eyes kept widening in her head, until she thought her skull would explode into fragments of bone and splatters of scarlet. "No, I…." This had been a mistake. A huge mistake. She needed to run, now. She needed to get going, fast, running and running, forget the stabbing rocks thirsty for her blood. This phantom before her, shrouded in crimson shadows and scraps of blood drenched black silk, was not the Dark Passenger as Rose knew it. This was not her madness, her darker half, her inner demon. This creature, looming over Rose with talons the color of old blood and teeth like a beast in a smile that screamed animal, was something altogether different. This was something dangerous, more dangerous even than the psychotic killer in clown makeup who might or might not have been in her living room. She needed to run, right now. She had to run away, had to. But her feet refused to move, refused to obey her commands. Her mind screamed, and her chest ached as the breath caught in it, trying to hide from this scarlet scary, this creature of demonic properties that had no business being in her head.

"Who the hell are you?" She managed to croak. Her voice felt parched and sandy. Her throat suddenly hurt. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm what you call the Dark Passenger. I'm you. I belong to you, and you belong to me. You've been dealing with only the part of me that was awake. But now that that one is here, I am more awake. I want part of this world, part of this mind. I refuse to allow a stupid little girl like you to spoil everything because she's afraid of our mate. I won't let that happen, do you hear me, you little bitch?" These last words came out in a slithering hiss that sent icy shivers down Rosaline's neck and made the hair on her arms stand straight, tingling with static fear. More awake? It was hard enough forcing the Dark Passenger to obey her in its previous state. Now it was this freakish, monstrous thing, and she was just supposed to hand over the reigns, give up control of her own body?

Suddenly, the fear was gone. There was no terror, no panic, no anxiety. There was only Rose, her feet bleeding from numerous slashes, her wounds from the previous day suddenly ripped open anew and dripping red onto her pale skin. Her lips were chewed bloody, and her hair was a wild cascade of blood red curls down her back. Her hands twisted, her fingernails curving into twisted claws. This creature said it was the Dark Passenger. This creature said it was a part of her, but bigger, better. Well, forget that crap. She was not going to be bullied just because the clown man of her demented dreams had poked her sleeping dragon until it had awoken, eager to destroy the den it had called home for so long.

"Why do we need to be with him? We can simply be on our own. We always have been. We take care of each other, the four of us. Why does it have to change now?" Rose demanded, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Her gums itched, as if fangs only waited until she was roused to fever pitch before they sprouted in her mouth. Her back ached, and her joints protested, yearning to pop. It was like she was transforming, but not. As if she were a beast waiting to rip open its silk chrysalis and become something violent and evil. But she wouldn't be evil. Mad, yes. If she had to go mad in order to take care of her sisters and Danni, then so be it. Insanity was in. But she would never be evil. Not like Gambol. Not like Maroni, the Chechen, Falcone, or the other mobsters in Gotham City. Not like the crooked cops. She would be herself, and that was all. Just Rose. Just Rosaline. Just herself. No transformations.

The minute she made that decision, she was herself again. No pain, no popping, no distortions, not itching, no hurting. She was Rose, in her white blouse and sensible black skirt, in sneakers, holding a black purse, her makeup and hair perfectly arranged. She stared at the Dark Passenger, and felt the thrall, the pull, but ignored it. She could feel rage surging in her veins, so hot compared to the chill fluid normally pulsing through her body. It helped her drag herself away from the tempting sight of the Dark Passenger, her inner demon. She didn't care if it was stronger than it had been. She would always be stronger than it.

She walked away from that Plutonian shore, black as midnight and darker than hell's deepest pit, walked away from the throbbing tide of the sanguine scarlet sea, and came back to herself. She was still standing in front of the door to her bedroom, her hand on the knob, her sisters and Danielle staring at her, waiting. She glanced at the clock - no more than ten, fifteen seconds, if that. These things, these changes that could bring her to her knees if she was weak for even a moment, often took place in less than half a minute. Rarely more. The encounters she'd had with the Joker and the mob goons, they weren't the same thing. These were battles of the soul, not the body. The important fights were rarely noticeable in their length.

And she always won.

"Rose?" Crystal murmured, brow furrowing in a silvery gold V of concern. Her lip was bloody, chewed that way in the space of the red haired vaudeville girl's square off against her inner insanity. The blond woman's eyes were bright and shining, like a small child's. There was a wealth of emotion in that usually razor cold voice. For a moment, the green-eyed woman wondered if perhaps she was looking at the Good Child, whom Crystal rarely, if ever, allowed to surface. Again, Rose's sister murmured her name.

"I'm all right. The Passenger was giving me trouble, but it's fine."

In her mind, her voice was a shining, glittering blade of ice cold malevolence as it sliced through the numerous barriers between her own consciousness and her inner demon's sanctuary in that dark beach with its bizarre silver sun and bloody moon, bringing the fury in her silent message home to the writhing monstrosity.

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You will do as I say, when I say. Do you hear me?

I won't let you screw this up! You're going to ruin everything! You stupid girl, you'll ruin everything! We need him! He completes us! You're going to chase him away! You stupid, stupid, stupid-

I know we need him.

The admission was soft, so soft that the Dark Passenger actually didn't hear the words, and continued to wail in the back of the redhead's mind as Rose disengaged herself from her psyche, throwing up every wall she could conceive of between herself and this new, different version of the Passenger. When she was ready, when she could no longer hear the crying and wailing, could no longer feel the pounding of fists on the floor and the gnashing of teeth, she grasped the knob of the door firmly and turned it, pushing the door open slowly. Calmly, serenely, she walked out, trailed by Crystal, Sadie, and Danni.

The Joker reclined on the two-seater, his feet in their vibrant purple socks propped up on arm of the near end of the sofa, his head on the far end. His jacket was draped over a table by his head, and his black shoes were tucked neatly under the table. His gloves, along with a small pocket knife, were set just so on top of the jacket, along with a single Joker card. Rose tilted her head, studying this picture of the clown prince of crime. In the day and a half that she'd known him, he had never looked the way he did now in slumberous repose. He looked relaxed, even innocent. He wore no makeup. His eyes were closed, set against bruised skin that sported no facial hair at all. His nose randomly reminded her of Peter Pan, with its cute tip and the shadow that might have been a spray of pale freckles across the bridge. All she could see of the painted psycho in this sleeping man were the scars that disfigured his mouth.

Then his eyes snapped open, and viridian hell rushed up to swallow her.

"Like what you, uh… see?" He asked. His voice was a rumble of thunder.

Rose couldn't tell if he was pleased, pissed, or totally uncaring of the fact that she'd been staring at him, studying him, in the rumpled suit without the jacket, shoes, or makeup. His face was empty of any and all emotion. She wondered if this question was a trap. Should she say yes? No? Not answer at all? Which would set him off? Because she knew, could practically taste, the energy, vicious and violent and violating, seething beneath his skin. If he chose to unleash that energy on her, she didn't know what she would do. Turn to the Passenger for help? Let him hurt her? Kill him?

"What's it to ya?" Crystal demanded from behind her. Immediately, the eyes like midnight green hell slashed at Rose in their hurried scramble to lock onto the other woman's face. The redhead felt her sister take a step back, then suck in a breath and take three steps forward, bracing her clenched fists on her hips. In a new pair of pajamas, a purple silk camisole with black lace and violet silk ninja pants bought for fifty cents at a thrift store, Crystal didn't look very intimidating, until you saw the rage in her eyes. She didn't like being intimidated herself, but she knew she could take anything the clown man could dish out.

Rose sighed. Why did Crystal have to be so confrontational?

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Danni informed him before Rose could open her mouth to tell him herself. "We think you're dead sexy, don't we girls? If you weren't likely to kill us, we probably all wanna tap that. Isn't that right girls?" Danni came to stand beside Rose, who smiled self-deprecatingly and nodded. Sadie nodded vigorously. Crystal sighed in frustration and gave a jerky nod in the direction of no one, refusing to meet the clown man's eyes. "So yeah," Danni went on. "We like what we see, with or without the war paint."

"War paint," the Joker repeated, seemingly taken aback. He rolled the words around on his tongue, tasting them. "War paint. War paint. Warrrrrr… paint-_t_uh." He looked at Danni, and grinned that macabre rictus grin like a corpse. "I like that. War paint."

"Good. Bye, everyone," Rose interjected into the more relaxed silence. "I'm off to work." And she began walking past the Joker towards the front door.

When she was beside his head, he reached out and grabbed her arm in a grip strong enough to bruise her skin. She gasped out something too breathless to be a cry of pain and fell to her knees beside him. Pain radiated up her thighs to her hips, but any protests she might have made were silenced by the demonic, dominating kiss he slammed down onto her mouth. He sucked at her breath, bit at her lips until they were as ragged as bleeding, tattered lace, devoured her. His tongue was a thick, hot thrust of savagery into her mouth, and she whimpered against his mouth, the harshly sensual, cruel mouth that ravished hers. He was growling, snarling, as he clutched at her hair with painful intensity, pressing her hard against him. The buttons of his shirt, slanted at an angle because of his position on the sofa, bit into her breasts. He forced her to the floor, to her back, the savage animal of a man pressing her against the rough carpet, his hands biting deep bracelets of shadow and violets into her wrists. Red swam across Rose's vision as her lungs screamed for air, but she ignored it all as the Dark Passenger shrieked in ecstasy, as the Joker thrust into her mouth, and she struggled to meet him, whimpering and gasping.

When she was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, he was suddenly gone, sitting on the couch, watching her catch her breath. She sat up slowly, gingerly, looking around. Danni was staring with wide eyes, back to the wall. Rose could see her nipples peaking against the tight fabric of her pajama top. Sadie was hunched up over her drawn up knees, sitting beside Danni's feet. Crystal was nowhere to be seen.

Rose looked back at the Joker, who leaned in and growled, "Mine."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, shivering. She wasn't cold. "Yours."

"Good. Now get going."

She practically ran out of the apartment. She didn't stop running until she made it to her car. The slash wounds that spelled out the Joker's name throbbed beneath her blouse like a heartbeat. She stared up at the window of her apartment, saw a pale face that had to belong to a man staring out of her bedroom window. She swallowed hard, and hastily go into the car. She sat there for more than ten minutes, until her hands stopped shaking and she could get the key in the ignition. She peeled out of the parking lot, anxious to get to work, for which she was already late.

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_Sorry, this just came out of nowhere and I had to write it. I'm not plotting this thing out at all because it's not going where I want it to. I had to show this, the Dark Passenger growing and changing. I mean, no one can be around the Joker for very long and not be changed. So here it is, this thing that poured out of my brain via my hands onto the computer. Hope you enjoyed the latest 6000 plus words of Jokery goodness. I did my best. Reviews make me hecka happy._


	25. 24 Acid in the Blood

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
****Acid In the Blood**

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Burning.

Burning, like poison, like pleasure, like pain.

Burning in her veins, burning in her muscles, burning in her eyes, burning in her fingertips and her skin and her mouth and her chest.

Like acid in the blood.

That's all it was, a dull burn throbbing through the backs of her legs, leather straps swinging and smacking against her pale, sensitive skin. Her arteries ached, her veins shuddered, her blood pounded like beating fists. Her muscles cramped violently. She ignored it, shoving the discomfort aside in her mind, and swung her leg up, foot slicing through the air. Her arms flew up over her head, and she sank down onto one knee, feeling her tendons scream, her joints creak, her blood sizzle. Her head throbbed, her temples lancing with pain, but she jerked her chin anyway, feeling her brain slam into the sides of her skull, exploding like a smashed pumpkin. She drew in a shuddering breath and let her head snap forward, her dark hair falling forward to hide her face behind a sable silk curtain. She closed her amber eyes, dragging in a breath. Her body burned.

"Miss Sadie?" A cultured, British voice inquired softly.

Sadie lifted her head and looked up to see Alfred Pennyworth watching her with some concern. In his hands was a towel, an energy bar, and a water bottle - luxury, ambrosia, nectar. She got to her feet, feeling her legs tremble with sudden weakness, and staggered over to her boss's butler, who also helped run the Queen of Swords. Alfred's job, when he wasn't seeing to Bruce, was caring for the top dancers of the vaudeville club, who often shoved themselves into their jobs so ruthlessly that they wore out their bodies with too little rest and support. Alfred's job was to make sure that didn't happen.

Feeling her stomach rumble, the pixie-faced dancing girl grabbed the energy bar from the worried looking butler with a grateful smile, ripped open the wrapping, and wolfed it down like a savage. She swallowed quickly, already feeling better, and took the proffered water bottle. This she drank more slowly, not wanting to make herself sick with it. The ice cold water cooled the burning of her throat where the harsh air had set her flesh aflame. She let a little of it dribble onto her sweaty face, relishing the tiny, icy splashes of water on her burning hot skin. Acid burned through her veins, seared her nerves, but she ignored it. She didn't care about the pain - she just wanted to dance. She wanted to sing, to dance. She wanted to throw all of her heart, mind, and soul into the moves and lose herself in the moment, the motion, the movement. She wanted to get lost, lose her thoughts, her sanity, her soul.

But she couldn't do that if she didn't eat. She'd collapse from physical exhaustion with her mind still to alert to grant her any real peace. So she gobbled down the second energy bar Alfred offered her, and washed it down with a few gulps of water. Then she bounced what in another century might have been a curtsy to the older British man and threw herself back out onto the dance floor.

Bass pounded, brass snapped, and acid flooded her veins, hissing and sizzling in her blood. She threw back her head, sweat flying like needles of boiling rain, hair flying around her head like a tenebrous explosion of sable silk. She moved, thrust her body forward, slicing with her thin frame through the air, as dancing pulsed in her feet and called out to the music throbbing from the big black speakers against the walls.

Alfred watched Sadie Damundo ripping her body, frail and delicate as hollow, paper-thin porcelain, into tiny shredded bits with the ferocity of her dancing. She almost never spoke aloud, never said a word unless it was in the privacy of her own, to her sisters and Danielle Spinelli, or unless she had words engraved on her tongue in black ink and gray memory. But she spoke when she danced. No, not spoke. She screamed. She shrieked. She raged at the world as her body twisted like a serpent, rippling and flowing like water, pale and white and translucent from malnutrition and trauma. Her hip bones cut against the waistband of her white dancing leggings, black shadows against the marble whiteness of her thin, bruised looking skin. Her sweat-dampened clothing clung to her thin frame like spider webs to prey. It hurt the Wayne family butler to look at her, at her tense face and rigid muscles, her shadowy flesh littered with smudged pain, her hands clenched into furious fists, her eyes burning, always burning, amber gold poison, hemlock wine…

Acid in the blood.

Sadie landed in a sweating, shuddering, stinging heap on the mat and watched from the corner of her eye, behind the curtain of her hair, as Alfred turned and walked out of the gym. She watched him go, eyes like sweet honey. Her mouth quirked into a tiny smile, a rarity, lacking vicious teeth or smirking hellish amusement. There was only the curve of pale lips tugged gently into the ghost of an expression of faint affection. Then the music changed, and it became a song of murder and adultery and liquor, seduction and jazz and fast, loose dancing.

Her body tensed, almost against her will. She felt her strings being yanked hard, almost cutting through the thin flesh of her body, her tissue paper armor sodden and weak with so much blood. Her breath whistled through her teeth. Her toes curled in her flat ballet slippers, her fingernails bit through the plastic of the crayon blue mat into the foam padding inside it. Her sweat dripped in tiny rain-rivers down her cheeks, over the swell of the tip of her nose, off the point of her chin. Her throat burned like acid. Her blood screamed for her to move, to go with it, to flow, to rage, to just MOVE. She bit back a cry of pain as her muscles cramped and protested, and she shoved herself up off the mat, ignoring the way her knees lanced with red fire, and she spun, spun, spun, into the music, into the song, and remembered what she had been trying to forget since coming to the Queen of Swords….

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.... Hands.

He had such wonderful hands. She was staring at them as he washed away the clown paint, watched the tiny trickling streams of thin white-wash and blood-tinged water and gray soot-muck that ran down his face and dripped onto the pristine white counter, into the white sink. She watched the way the flesh shifted as his tendons tensed, saw the way the light caught the short, pale gold hairs on the back of his hands. She liked the lean, knife-like bones of his wrists, that threatened to cut her eyeballs if she stared too long. She loved the callused knuckles, the creases black with pitch dark grease paint, rough from what had to be countless fist fights. She loved his fingernails, short but not to the quick, not ragged or bitten, immaculately clean, pink and white. She liked the scar the ran like a choppy thread from the back of his hand and down, over the wrist, disappearing into the cuff of the shirt sleeve.

She fixed golden eyes like wet bee pollen silk on his hands as he grabbed a straight razor and lathered up his cheeks. The edge of the razor gleamed like a rictus smile on a pirate corpse. Sadie stared avidly at the silvery sheen of the ultra thin, razor sharp, needle-bite blade, at the competent, lean hand gripping it as the blade came up to the pale, stubbly cheek ragged with golden brush.

The dark haired pixie of a woman sat in the bathtub at an angle most people would beg not to be in, her tailbone slowly grinding down against the pale bottom of the tub, her left knee bent, her right foot pressed against the edge of the bathtub. A bottle of Daphne Diamond-Yellow polish was next to her butt, which was clad only in a pair of black gym shorts and the invisible pair of black panties with gold angelfish swimming through their sable, faux oceanic depths. She slowly drew the tiny polish brush down the length of her right pinky toe, coating it in this, glittering gold. It gleamed like ground up glass floating in congealing bile. The crow-haired vaudeville girl didn't have to look at her foot to know that she had not yet accidentally brushed the sticky polish against her skin. She could give herself a pedicure in her sleep.

You do it because you are afraid….

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The wicked whisper breathing against the shells of her ears made her shiver, but still she made no mistake with the polish. She only clamped her hand tighter around the handle and dipped the black haired brush back into the bottle, ignoring the poking, prodding whispers breathing against her skull. She bit her lip, eyes now zeroing in on her twitching pinkie toe as she applied the third coat of sickly sweet smelling polish. The taste of chemicals was acrid on her tongue, but it helped distract her a little from the voices.

Why seek distraction? Why do you fear this man? Open your shields. Let down your walls. Do not fear him. He is ours, don't you see?

__

She saw. Of course she saw. How could she not see? Every voice she had ever heard screaming, shrieking, shredding her brain, all the voices of her broken mind that had plagued her all of her pathetic life had roared like a lioness in heat when she'd first seen the psychotic painted man's face two days before in the mob owned bank, when she'd been trapped beneath Shmuccatelli's desk, choking on the violating smell of musk, tears pouring down her face as his hand tightened its yanking grip on her short hair. In the moment when her eyes had slid almost possessively over the cruelly sensual, made up features of the man in the gray suit and clown makeup, her entire being had stilled, sucking in an agonizing breath and fluttering madly to catch his attention, even though she had known then that for him to see her would mean her imminent death by shotgun. She had pressed herself against the underside of the desk, her body aching, her throat burning and her tongue screaming at the disgusting taste assaulting it, and had listened with pounding heart and tingling nerves to the voice of the man who had saved her from Joe Shmuccatelli, poisoning him and freeing her to finally take a breath, crawl out from under the desk and breathe freely for the first time all day, just as soon as the robbers had disappeared or died.

Since that instant, when she'd seen him, and her brain had fizzled like frying bacon and began shrieking like a banshee, she'd known he was the one. He was the one, the very one, for all of them, all four of them. He was nothing to fear.

_He was the only thing to really fear._

_The clink of metal against porcelain brought her back to herself, and she jerked back to the present, realizing she'd moved onto the seventh of her ten toes some time ago. Startled, she looked up and realized that the eyes like smoldering emerald coals were pinning her to the wall, spiking through her nerves, thrusting into her chest to clutch her heart and hold it still. Suddenly, she couldn't quite catch her breath. Her lungs burned like acid. Her heart tripped and stuttered. His eyes were like hammers, pounding away at her skull until chips of bone began flaking away, revealing pain and knowledge too intimate to describe. He was stripping the pale, white flesh from her thin, glass bones with his stare. She gulped, tasted only the staleness of the nothing-air caught in her mouth and her own saliva. Her skin crawled, but not with revulsion. Her limps ached to move, to get up, to dance. Her throat worked convulsively, and she didn't know if her body was trying to force her to vomit or sing._

_He took a step toward her._

_With a sudden rush of foresight, Sadie replaced the brush to the bottle of golden diamond nail polish and twisted the cap on tight, so it wouldn't leak. She didn't want to spill one of her favorite colors onto the nice, clean bath tub. If that happened, it would take weeks to scrub out. She had more important things to do right this moment._

_Like drown in eyes like pools of venomous acid. Like shudder with delight as he reached out his pale, scarred hand with its soft, golden wisps of hair gleaming in the harsh, fluorescent light and waited for her to take it. He could crush her slim little paw in his lean, iron-braced grip. She knew it. He could snap her wrist like a pencil. He could turn her bones to powder. He could, with the cold efficiency with which she or any of her sisters swatted a fly, slit her throat with the straight razor and then take pleasure in violating her still-warm corpse. He could violate her first and slit her throat afterwards. He could hold Crystal and Danni off that long, she was certain. And it wouldn't matter what Rose would do to him when she came back from work and found Sadie dead and cold in a pool of congealed blood in the bathtub. The dark haired cabaret girl would still be dead._

_Her soul shoved her forward. Her brain screamed. The Whisperers chanted, _yes, yes, yes, yes! Touch him, touch him, touch him._ Her body flushed, her ice white skin suddenly tinged pink like blood speckled snow left to melt in the sun. Her lips parted. Her breath was moist and warm. Her eyelids slid half-closed, her lashes like shredded black curtains over psychic windows of amber-tinted glass, hiding nothing, but tantalizing all the same. Goosebumps cut through her skin._

_She put her hand in his._

_He wrenched her forward, into his arms like steel bands. Her mouth, half open to get enough air, was suddenly pressed hard against the purple silk vest covering part of his shirt. Her lips could feel the silken hammer of his pulse against flesh and cloth. She tasted death and bones under her tongue as his hand cupped the back of her head. His fingertips burned like the smoldering ends of cigarettes, but she couldn't move. His other hand tightened on her wrist, squeezing, until the bones ground together, a sweet sound like wind chimes shattering escaping Sadie's mouth as pain rocketed up and down her arm. His other hand fisted in her baby-fine hair and ripped her head back. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes found a gaze like an inferno, twin pools of emerald hell, burning with some perverse, sickening need she couldn't name, couldn't fathom, only wanted to fulfill…._

He wrenched her around so that her back was pressed against his chest. The buttons of his shirt bit into her skin. One hand held her arm tight to her belly, easy to escape, but she didn't want to. The bare skin of his wrist blazed like a beacon against her arm. His breath scorched the sensitive skin of the side of her neck, just beneath her ear. Her body tightened, tense and rigid. The short hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end, crackling with the electric tension snaking around and between them. The stringy strands of chrome green hair brushed her chair. She bit back what might have been a plea, or a sob, clamping her lips shut tightly against any sound that might come out.

Yes….

_The word was a long, drawn out sigh, hissed on the sibilance of a thousand tongues, spit from a thousand mouths, echoing a thousand desires. This was where she was supposed to be. His arm crushed her fragile ribs, but the glass bones didn't snap. Her milky pale skin turned bluish beneath the bruising force of his embrace. Shivers poured out of her, rose off of her in wisps like evanescent steam, misty phantasms. The Joker inhaled, long and loud, and growled low in her ear. Her entire body went rigid. Her teeth sank into the stitches on her bottom lip, and she winced. Burning cold fingers touched her pointed chin, touched her mangled lip where her teeth drew tiny wells of blood that threatened to spill over and roll down her chin in small scarlet streams. Fingertips brushed the corners of her mouth, traced the ragged wound the stitches held closed, pressed so that the loops and whorls of his fingerprint were suddenly crimson against the pale skin, so that wetness gleamed on his skin. Sadie sucked in a breath and arched her body, almost against her will. This was like a dance, a seductive and sweetly poisonous, sinful dance. She would die doing this dance. She could feel it. But she didn't care. She would die in this sinful, delicious dance, walking the tightrope of razor wire until too much blood had been spilled and she fell to her death. Then the grim reaper in clown paint and a purple suit would take her soul to hell._

_Sadie sank against him, allowing his fingers to bruise, his buttons to bite, his hair to caress her cheek. She could smell him, not the revolting, hateful smell of musk. Not the cloying perfume of death and decay, nor the thick, copper stench of blood. She smelled metal, and ice, gunpowder and smoke, the tang of sweat and something that might have been AXE spray three or four days ago but was now just a wisp of a scent._

_"What is your name?" He demanded in a growl. Velvet bondage rubbed against the cabaret girl's ribcage, inside her skin, where her heart was. The black fur of a beast brushed against her heart. His fingers bit until blue darkened to twilight purple against the moonbeams of her translucent flesh. He whispered something that sounded like shush bight might have been something else against her hair before nipping at her earlobe. "You smell so good," he snarled into the silken sable strands of Sadie's hair. There was something both eldritch and infernal in his voice, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the feel of his hand on her arm, crushing the tiny veins so they burst in sprays of blue and violet underneath the pale whiteness of her skin, focusing on the fingers threatening to crush her jaw as he forced her to turn her head, to look at him, looking into his absinthian eyes of molten need. "What is your name?"_

_She swallowed. Would he hit her? Would she let him? Or would she speak? She swallowed again, tasting ashes. Her throat ached. Could she speak? Could she sing? Could she say anything? Her heart thumped, skipped, slammed, skipped twice. She wanted to speak, to tell him something, anything…._

_"To the gentlemen, I'm Miss Fortune…." She whispered. "To the ladies, I'm Sir Prize…."_

_"Really? Miss Fortune?" He grinned, showing teeth yellowed by mistreatment. "I bet I have a better name for you. You beat a man to death with a shovel once, didn't you?" She immediately tensed, all trust in him vanished, eyes suddenly bright with an animal's consuming terror, trying to wrench herself out of his grasp. His very breath burned her body, blistering her beneath the skin. Her mind shrank away from him, but no sound emerged from her mouth. She gritted her teeth, reaching for something, anything, a weapon, a safe place, anything, but the Joker gripped her until something cracked, and lancing pain shot up Sadie's arm. She froze. She couldn't afford to damage her limbs. She needed them._

_"It's true, isn't it? Teeny, tiny you beat a man to death with a shovel. You've got a little fight in you. I like that."_

_She immediately became boneless, pliant, almost sleepy looking in his arms. She glanced up at him, her eyes suddenly wild shy, and nodded slowly. She had beaten her science teacher to death with a snow shovel in the fifth grade. She and Danni. Danni had beaten the teacher as well, but only to hurt. Sadie had killed him. She had been splashed with blood, with brains, with so many disgusting things and she had just kept smashing down with the shovel until there was nothing left except fragments of bone and-_

_She made a soft sound of distress and tried to pull away, but he shushed her gently, whispered, "You're not a monster. You're just a freak… like me. It's all right to be a freak. We're ahead of the curve. He was a bad man, wasn't he?" He spoke gently, as if talking to a small child. She looked up at him, her acid eyes so huge in her face, golden pools of corrosive pain and fear. She was tripping, slowly, falling into a trap few had ever escaped from. She didn't care. She just wanted to curl up in his arms, basking in the frenetic energy of the painted psychotic holding her like a lover. She shivered at the suppressed violence in his grip on her arms._

_"I didn't mean to…."_

_"He was a bad man, wasn't he? A bad man. And you killed him. You beat him to death with a shovel. How did it feel?"_

_She shook her head, refusing to think about the electric thrill of power racing up her spine, shooting through her body, kissing her nerves, as the shovel came down on the teacher's face, down and down, smashing and crushing…. She shook her head, biting her mangled lip, trying to drown out the agony of remembrance. She didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think about it at all. She wanted to forget the whole thing, forget the blood spraying across her face, forget the pulpy mess mixed with the sand beneath the playground equipment, forget the bloody mouth with its broken teeth crying out for something that might have been mercy._

_Joker grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. She fell silent. She hadn't even realized she'd been whimpering until he put a finger over her lips._

_"It felt good, didn't it?"_

_"N-no…."_

_"Yeah, it did. Yeah, it did. It's okay, yeah, it did. It's okay. It's good. You're human. You're ahead of the curve. You know that killing is good, it's okay, it felt good to kill him. It's okay, Sadie. Everyone feels it. They just deny it because they think it's wrong. It's not wrong. You liked it, didn't you? Feeling his skull cave in? The sound of his bones breaking? His pleas for mercy? You liked it didn't you?" His lips were a breath away, burning her mouth. "You liked killing him, didn't you?" Every time he spoke, his lips brushed against her mutilated mouth, so that tiny beads of blood caught on his mouth. "You liked hurting him. You liked killing him. It's okay."_

_"I… I…."_

_"It's okay, tell me. Tell me, pretty girl. Doll face. That's what you are, huh? My little doll face." She found herself nodding along with him, despite her sense of his finely spun threads of razor wire closing all about her. She was a moth, he was a flame - she couldn't look away, couldn't flee. She just wanted to hear him talk. His voice was lilting and sexy, playful and damning. She wanted to listen and listen…. "Say it," he said, holding her chin in place. "What's your name?"_

_"S-Sadie-"_

_He slapped her. Hard. She tasted blood in her mouth, and pain, but no fear. There was no fear for some reason, only chilling lightning strikes in her blood. She couldn't look away. Damn him to hell for eternity but she could not look away._

_"What's. Your. NAME?!" He snarled. His voice was full of tenebrous caverns, gossamer pain, and infernal abysses. She felt her body flush hot, turn the color of blood-stained milk, as heat seared her. She whispered, "Doll face."_

_"That's a girl."_

_She smiled, a big, happy, doofy grin he answered back with one of his own rictus grins. Her expression ripped a stitch, and she tasted more of her own blood._

_"And you liked killing him, didn't you?"_

_Her smile evaporated, and she hugged herself, hunching, wishing she were invisible. He gripped her chin again and forced her to look at him._

_"Answer me."_

_She opened her mouth, her blood as cold as death, her fingertips numb, her mind screaming, the voices crying out in her head, when someone pounded on the bathroom door. Crystal screamed, "Get the hell out of the bathroom! I need to wash my hair! Stupid clown!"_

_The moment was shattered. The door opened, and Sadie bolted out of the bathroom and to her own room, slipping out of sight into the dark confines of her closet…._

The dancing girl shuddered. Yes, she hadn't wanted to remember. Hadn't wanted to remember any of it - the conversation, the sensation, the memories of the day she'd killed for the first time, any of it. She had not wanted to remember any of it. It was why she danced with wild abandon, ignoring the throbbing pain in her mouth or the way her elbow protested when she flung her left arm too sharply. She didn't want to remember any of what had happened that morning.

Especially not her unspoken answer. Crystal's timing had been perfect. It had been the only thing keeping Sadie from making that damnable admission: she had not liked killing her science teacher that day.

She had loved it.

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_The line "to the gentlemen I'm Miss Fortune, to the ladies I'm Sir Prize" is from "When You're Evil" by the gothic singer Voltaire. This was 4600 words - are you happy with it? Let me know. I go off to get a filling and hopefully get a nanny job. I love kids, believe it or not. =D Anyway, reviews make me smile. Bye!_

_PS - I've decided I'm not going to write from the Joker's POV anymore. I don't do it well enough, so I'm gonna focus strictly on my five queens. Bye!_


	26. 25 Like a Glass Hell

**Chapter Twenty-Five  
****Like a Glass Hell**

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Screaming. Her skull was screaming. Her hair was the thinnest of golden and silver wire as the hands fisted in it, yanked on it, ripped at it. Blood trickled down her forehead where a slashing cut wept at the fury singing like water over stone in her blood. Her skull screamed, her scalp screamed, her mind screamed. Her mouth could not. Silence was golden, or so they said. Duct tape was silver. Salvatore Maroni had used silver to make gold while he ripped new holes in her body with all of his pretty little knives. She knelt there on the cold stone floor of his basement, her eyes full of screaming, the Good Child sobbing and begging for help in the back of her mind.

_Shhhh…._

She whispered it softly, gently, even as something scalding hot exploded inside her. Molten glass, burning to the bone, dripped down her skin as Maroni grinned and kissed her through the duct tape. Her eyes would've slashed him apart, eyes like violet glass dipped in old blood, jagged and murderous, but he was immune to her fury, immune to her desperate need to beat her tormentor to death. She allowed her mind to split in half: half of it focusing on the question of what Maroni would look like if she beat him to a pulp, and the other half focusing on comforting the Good Child.

_It's all right. Don't cry. It will be over soon. Don't cry. Shhh…._

_It hurts, it hurts!_

_I know, I know. Hush now, it's all right. Just let it go. Don't think about it._

_B-but...._

_Count stars, count sheep, count anything. Don't think about it. Think about the Joker._

_He scares me._

The Good Child sobbed the protest over and over again, screamed it, pleaded with Crystal to make it stop hurting. Crystal couldn't do anything about it, but she didn't say so. She allowed herself to gather her conscience, her sweeter half, and hold it in her arms, cradle it close, trying to block out the knife that was like jagged glass but softer stabbing into her body, spilling molten desert pain inside her. The ice cold glass blade carved deeper and deeper, ripping open bruised, tortured flesh, and thick burgundy wine spilled out, staining stone and linen and flesh the color of marble. Crystal ignored the pain, or part of her did. The only thing conscious of the brutal stabbing was her rage, her viciousness, her primal, insane fury. It snarled and slavered, trying to rip out of Crystal's thin, bound body, tried to claw its way out from between her ribs and leap at her abuser, rip out his throat, gouge out his eyeballs, eviscerate and decapitate and dismember, screaming in furious triumph as blood spattered and geysered and sprayed upward, dying her marble white skin a beautiful crimson….

She whispered to herself, that piece of herself that was only attached by a slender thread of silver memory - a memory almost two decades old, whispers and wisps of phantasms from a lost and shattered childhood, a memory of pink Mary-Jane shoes and lace and plastic barettes, frills and silliness, and two sisters sharing it all - the piece of herself that was unclouded, glittering crystal, a pretty jewel, untested and untried, surrounded by a shell of ice cold, razor sharp diamond - she sang and whispered to that part of herself, allowing her heart to be soft for just a moment, to be gentle and take care of someone smaller and weaker than herself. She whispered stories, breaths of tales of a man with wild hair tinged with green, eyes rimmed with black darkness, mouth a bleeding slash stitched with scars, face slathered with war paint as he waged battle against the world that had abandoned four innocent girls, allowed four rebel angels to be raped to death, allowed four monsters to be vomited forth out of the gaping maw of hell, shat out of the bowels of the infernal abyss....

The blonde dancer realized something even as she breathed these stories into the virginal ears of her Good Child. The Joker was not a monster. He was a warrior, a brave general of the army against the vicious order of the world they lived in now. He hated this world. She tasted truth and ashes when she thought of Maroni, of Gambol and the Chechen, of Falcone, and four women bleeding under their skin as they huddled together, sobbing and rocking each other, beneath the brutally pounding, cleansing spray of the showerhead.

He wasn't a monster. He was their defender. He was waging a furious war, vicious and rabid, a bloody blitzkrieg, against a world that allowed and accepted abominable events like the rapes of little girls, the butchering of children, the imprisonment of innocent men, the terrorist actions of sleeper cells, the shootings of the protectors of the people. He hated this world, and, she realized, so did she. It was the source of her violent rages, her grief and pain, her hatred. Her hate was a knife stabbing at the world they both despised, slicing at the bonds of reality, trying to split the seams and rip it apart, change it, shove it through the rigors of metamorphosis, until it became something she could live with.

Anarchy. That's what they needed. That's what the four Queens of the Sword wanted. Anarchy. Chaos. Hell. That's what they all needed to remake Gotham into.

And the Joker wanted it too.

He was their ally.

_Crystal! Crystal! He's stopping! Maybe he's done. Maybe he'll let us go._

The blonde vaudeville girl allowed her consciousness to be drawn slowly back to herself as the glass shards slipped out of her flesh. Molten heat, scalding and hurting, still cooled against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She blinked languidly, sleepily, as her arms screamed at her. They were tied tightly behind her back, numb from fingertip to elbow, and her shoulders were slowly being forced out of their sockets. She looked up at Salvatore, who grinned and gripped the fat glass knife and made a movement that would've made the blonde woman gag and look away if she had been able. Instead she was forced to watch as black electricity arced inside the mob boss's eyes as he watched her face shifting, watched realization set in. She didn't even have time to shut her eyes when something agonizingly hot and thicker than blood hit her in the face. Liquid glass landed in her hair, in her nose, burning her. She instinctively hunched away from the direction of the sickening assault, and she lost her balance, falling hard on her right shoulder. Something separated with a revolting, agonizing pop!

She screamed. Silver tape silenced her pain.

Tears burned in her eyes, cutting her like shards of diamond. She whimpered, and immediately loathed herself. Throbbing slammed into her from her shoulder, and nausea rose like a sea serpent, wicked and terrible and sudden. She tried to focus on something else, anything else, but her shields were in tatters, ragged scraps of golden silk and jagged bits of broken violet glass. Her entire body shuddered. Her shoulder screamed. Everything screamed. She bit her tongue to keep from , ow, ow… please, please, please….

The Good Child was almost in hysterics. Crystal wasn't far behind.

The duct tape was suddenly ripped off of her mouth, ripping off skin with it, and the blonde woman gulped lungful after lungful of air, doing everything in her power to keep from sobbing aloud. Everything burned, it burned and screamed, and she just wanted it to end, wanted it to be over, please….

The knife was at her lips. She could either open her mouth, or be beaten and then open her mouth. Ice cold glass burned her sensitive lips, cooked the flesh of her tongue, turned her teeth to black ashes. She didn't want to. She didn't want to. She didn't want to take the knife, no….

A tear escaped. It rolled down her cheek, made its way to the point of her chin, and dripped off to splash one expensive Gucci loafer on the toe. Her eyes were begging mirrors of lavender as she regarded Maroni with something that might have been a plea for mercy, for relief, release. She didn't want to do this. Not this. There was no way to retreat from this, not the way he did it. She wouldn't be able to ignore it, or she would choke, suffocate, and she knew that the Italian mob boss had no qualms about violating a dead woman. And if she died, who would take care of the other girls? Who?

She parted her lips, reluctantly, slow as a corpse drawing a breath, and the Italian mobster shoved his knife into her mouth and continued to rape her in every way possible.

****

Oo8oo8oo8oo8oO

She knocked. She didn't have the strength to get out her keys. She didn't even know if she still had them on her. She might have dropped them somewhere. She didn't know. She was too tired to care. She just wanted to get inside and into the shower. She wanted to get clean. She wanted this disgusting stuff off of her. She wanted to change into real clothes, not slut clothes that Maroni had forced her to wear.

No one came to the door.

"Please!" She screamed suddenly, collapsing against the door. "For the love of God, open the door! Please! Please, please! Danni! Sadie! Joker!"

The world was bright and glittering, edgy and soft. Light was brightening, glowing, becoming blinding, and she tried to scream one more time, just one more time for help, as the world whited out like a blizzard and Crystal fainted in front of the door to her apartment just as a man in clown makeup opened up the gateway to sanctuary.

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_Okay, I know this one is hecka short, but I promised a friend I'd post a new chapter since she drove me to a baby sitting interview earlier. And I wanted to give you guys a glimpse of Crystal... and the situation that makes her so angry._


	27. 26 Only Time

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**Only Time**

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Too many lunatics in one room spoiled the atmosphere. They all stared out of the corner of their eyes at each other, surreptitious glances full of animal wariness. Teeth were barely veiled by thinned lips, eyes were bright with something akin to a monstrous fever. Too much madness in the blood, too much blood spilling stench-ridden sweat, too much sweat thickening the toxic air. The room was small, but not claustrophobic. The windows were splattered with black and gray paint, effectively breaking apart the beams of pale, weak sunshine trying to hammer through the crackling, peeling, acrylic shields. There was only a single chair, and the person sitting cross-legged in its swivel-sweet embrace was not a criminal.

At least, not exactly. The Joker eyed the brunette woman.

The black, spike heel of her right shoe thumped against her left calf. The white nylon of her tights clung to her lower legs, her ankles, her feet. The hem of the black Gauchos fluttered in the frigid breath of the portable fan blowing cool air against her. Her black tux shirt rippled on the air currents like the muscles of a hunting panther, and her black undershirt hugged her breasts and ribcage like a crushing fist. A hematite choker with what looked like the club-symbol of a playing card made of glittering, icy diamonds hung at her throat. Her lips were like pale, pale frost, iced over kisses waiting to bite into flesh. Her smile, lipsticked with icy whiteness but outlined in kohl-black liner, tugged at the corners of her mouth, a little girl's smile. Slightly parted, those pale lips bared even, white teeth like bleached bones. Shark teeth. Not so much as the tiny muscles of her nose twitched. Predatory watchfulness coiled in the depths of her eyes. Her white sapphire stud earrings gleamed in the wan light, frozen tear drops against her skin. Her thick eyelashes, painted white with Ghost Graffiti mascara, caressed the high bones of her cheeks when she blinked slowly, carefully, lace butterfly wings against pale cheeks. She was sitting relaxed and poised on the swivel chair, her shoulder-length, chestnut curls hanging around her face, masking the icy blue-gray of one eye. Her eyes burned like witch light. Her black top hat with its white sash sat at an angle on top of her head, the Ace of Clubs sticking half-out of the ivory satin. Her fingernails, with their elegant, professional French tips, tapped out short, staccato rhythms on the arms of the chair.

The painted clown prince of crime grinned back at that smile. She looked like she worked for him. She looked like the Ace of Clubs. He chuckled a little at the thought. The Ace of Knaves and the Ace of Clubs. All that was missing were the other four Aces - Hearts, Diamonds, Spades, and Wilds. But he had his little deck of cards lined up. The cards just needed to be shuffled, cut, and dealt. Then he'd have them.

"What, uh… what do you think?" He asked her.

She glanced over at him, arching one finely shaded eyebrow at him. He was asking her opinion? Why? She was only here as - get this - hired muscle. The sadistic, spectral slivers of her psychosis, sleeping soundly in her subconscious, would prick periodically, waking wide and thrusting itself into a wild frenzy of frenetic energy, screaming for her attention, clamoring for the opportunity to rush out into the world and find something weaker, smaller, a pathetic piece of neurotic, narcotic disease, and shred it to bits of bloody gray meat upon the floor. Her leonine counterpart purred in her head at the thought, rubbing blood-spiked, damp fur against the jagged bones of her skull. She wanted to shudder, but did not. Not in front of the Joker. Not in front of these madmen. She refused to show weakness.

_Good girl. Good girl…._

Her madness whispered in her mind, sugary sweet, construction paper lace on her skin and Florida-style Sunny D on her tongue. She thought of her other half as a predator, a demon hunter, a psychotic specter stalking the stinking streets and slums of her sanity searching for sweetly sadistic sources of shrieks and screams, seeking for victims to slash and stab. Her insanity, half its own sentient being, thought of her as an innocent and gentle little girl in a pale blue frock and white lace pinafore, hair done up in cute little pigtail curls.

_Oh?_

Her voice was soft, lacking any and all inflection. She was a mirror, reflecting only the thoughts of those around her. She couldn't afford transparent deep reflection around something as frightening as the painted man watching her with glittering, feverish eyes bright and black with anarchy.

_Don't be afraid. Never ever._

_I know that. I know not to be afraid. Fear is madness. No fear. Never fear. I will die before I show fear in front of these men. _

_Shut up. I don't want to hear it._

_Why do you fear your own soul so much?_

She glanced at the clown man with his rictus grin, raked her gaze over the men assembled before her. She was not afraid. She was angry. She was enraged. And she didn't know why. It didn't matter why. There was something close to subzero void in her veins. She felt empty, cold, her marrow crystallizing, her skull shattering like glass, her blood turning to pieces of red diamond death in her veins. She was frigidly dead almost to her core. Her heart was stuttering in her chest, and her marrow was turning to burning cold molten glass deep within her body. Goose bumps cut through her skin, and she shoved back a shudder to the realms of nothingness as she met viridian hell in lakes of pitch black kohl.

_"Well-uh?"_

The voice was a seductive growl, but only to half of her. The other half tried to hide from the madness in the timbre of that voice, the fury and chaotic pathos screaming at the seams of sonic waves that cut her eardrums. She felt her heart trip in her chest, felt her face tighten almost imperceptibly, her muscles clenching, her mouth tightening, her lips thinning, her teeth sinking into her ice pale, bottom lip. Her fingers cramped. Her nails stopped their heartbeat staccato. She uncrossed her knees. There was a dangerous tonal quality to the clown man's voice, something just below a threat, just above a warning. Growls and snarls, shrieks and howls, laughter and screams… she could taste it. His voice was… new. Different. She stared into those eyes, emerald razorblade kisses, ophthalmic caresses of vicious lust slicing through her soul.

She rose to her feet. Her instincts, her inner lioness, rose and reared, a rampant beast baring claws and teeth, eyes wary, whiskers forward, scenting the danger offered by too many of the people surrounding her. This was a dare, a lion's challenge to its prey, to rise, to prove itself worthy of being allowed to live. He had to have a reason not to kill her. If she didn't give him one, she'd be in trouble. He'd kill her. Whether it be with a knife blade or the copper-jacketed bullet of a gun, she'd still be dead. She needed to move. She needed to get up and move, right now, right then, move, run, move....

_Get up, get up and get up, get up, get up, get up…._

Her brain whispered frantically at her, hissing like a serpent, stabbing at her nerves, shoving her into preparing to move. She couldn't look away from the clown man with the Chelsea grin. She felt a peculiar lassitude fill her limbs, and fought it, shrieking silently. Something glittered in his gloved fist - his switchblade.

_Get up, now, get up, now, get up, now, get up, now, get up, now, now_….

Her muscles twitched. Her nerves buzzed. Her vision swam. She hadn't drawn a breath in almost twenty seconds. She could feel her makeup melding to her face, sinking into her pores, staining the cracks of her suddenly dry lips. She tried to swallow, couldn't manage it. Suddenly she tasted sand in her mouth. Her eyelashes swept down gently, and she felt grit in her eyeballs. She blinked rapidly, her eyes focused on the crazy clown up. Get up now. For the love of God, get up and move, now!

She didn't leap. She didn't jump. She didn't jerk. She tensed, her muscles clenched tightly, and allowed her head to dip forward, her shoulders to hunch, her hands to clamp down tightly on the chair arm as she rose slowly, her spiked heels grinding into the cold concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse. Her hair tickled her face. Her blue eyes burned like the twin hearts of two candle flames. Danni didn't allow these minute sensations to distract her. She never took her eyes off of the jester man staring at her with what might have been fury. There was more here than she knew. This was more than a child's staring contest. This was a confrontation of bizarre and ground breaking proportions. She was in serious trouble if she didn't play this just right.

She moved forward, maintaining eye contact with the killer clown of Gotham even as she moved to one of the lunatics the Joker had somehow managed to collect from the city slums.

Her nerves sang, her blood shushed and whispered, a soothing sweetness in her veins. She watched every nervous twitch, every tick and tock of the clockwork clown man, as she moved through the ranks of the clinically crazy.

"I think…." She mused aloud, pausing to regard one incredibly fat man with greasy brown hair under a beanie with a thumb-sized hole in it and what might have been toxic-sludge fed lice or maggots crawling in his beard. He looked at her with the curiously bright eyes of a listless and unhappy child. She looked at him with eyes that would've made a sane person wet themselves in terror. Her chest ached. Her bones clicked like pieces of broken glass.

"I think that only a strong personality can command men this far gone," she said.

The brunette vaudeville girl turned to another man, thin, hook nosed, glassy eyed, sallow faced. His skin gleamed with sweat, as if he'd been rolled in grease and left to sweat more of it out in the blazing desert sun. Danni could see sharp teeth locked behind thin, fleshless lips, and mad eyes alight with the twitching fever of silent voices and unholy urges locked behind transparent, bruised looking lids. She could smell him from where she stood, five feet away - a pungent stench of sickness, booze, aching frenzied need, cramped pain. She turned away from him, returning her gaze and her focus to the killer clown, but she kept some attention on the madmen behind her. If they moved at all, she'd kill them. She would not let them touch her. If they touched her, even a finger, she'd rip their throats out.

"I think they're... weak-willed, maleable, like clay. But what fire will shape them? And how hot will it be? Because that's important. Too cold, and they turn to sludge and mud, weak, worthless, useless."

She turned back to the fat man with the greasy hair, wrinkling her nose at the sick stench of cigarette smoke and stale urine. She walked towards an older man, maybe fifty, with a lean face and a quick smile. It was gentle, that smile, inviting, sweet. Like a happy child, or a kind grandparent. He nodded politely, tipping his black cowboy hat. Courteous. Courtly. His skin was like gossamer against his fragile bones. Age spots seasoned his hands and arms, which were leanly muscled despite his age. She might've been wrong about his age. He might've been sixty. He seemed sane enough. What was he doing here? What was wrong with this man? He was like her grandfather, sweet, kind, and helpless if anyone ever tried to to hurt him. He would be useless working for the painted clown man. Why was he here?

"Hey, there, purdy lady," he said.

His muscles, weak as they seemed, bunched and rippled beneath his black t-shirt. His fingernails were dirty, she noticed. Black dirt clung to the beds, hiding behind the shields of keratin. Dark brown lines etched his palms - grease or dirt, she wasn't sure. The cracks of his dry lips were black. His teeth were stained brown, but not from nicotiene, she could tell. It was a different pattern across the enamel, a different color than the noxious yellow of cigarette stains. It was... something wasn't right here. She glanced at her boss - since when had she thought of the crazy man in grease paint as her boss? - and saw a look of bizarre anticipation creasing the lines of his face, stretching his blood red smeared mouth wider and wider. She was onto something, she could tell from the glittering insect light of the clown man's eyes. Something was off with this guy.

_Sometimes,_ _the man who is sane appears the strangest. And goblin men may not look like what they are._

_What?_

The fat man and the sweaty-faced man moved, and she whirled on them, mouth open to scream something obscene and vicious that would frighten them back, and then realized they were moving away from her. All of the men were moving away from her... and the old man in the black t-shirt and blue jeans, cowboy hat and snake skin boots.

Danni pivoted on her heel and backed up even as she met the man's eyes. They were blue, bright blue and sparkling, a child's eyes, baby blue eyes. The smile was sweet still, sweet as bee pollen, sweet as a sweetly poisoned honey cake sprinkled with arsenic sugar. She could suddenly smell almonds and mold. His skin suddenly looked like the moltings of meal worms. The cabaret girl felt sweat soaking the powder on her face, dampening a curl that clung to her cheek. She tasted sugary sweetness when her tongue touched her lips.

Her leonine madness curled up one lip and bared a sleek, ivory fang in warning.

_What is it?_

Her insanity lunged forward, loping swiftly down the narrow tunnel separating her mind from her subconscious. It was snarling, slavering, ripping at her gray matter with phantasmagorical claws unsheathed. She watched with eyes that were wolf blue and cat narrow, as the happy man in black and blue took a step forward. His hands were knotted with what might have been arthritis or badly healed fractures, but there was a wiry strength in the swollen, age-spotted digits that bespoke use in some sort of profession that should have been pinging her freak-radar. She knew it, knew there was something off. He wasn't insane. Not exactly. But there was something there, just beneath the surface, tremor-worms rushing to and fro beneath the surface of her awareness, carnivorous maggot-like intuition screaming for her attention as it surged beneath the ground.

_What is it?_

Her demand for information was met with slavering snarls and spitting hisses.

_What's wrong?!_

_You must not look on goblin men, you must not look on goblin men, you must not look on goblin men, you must not look on goblin men, you must not look on goblin men, you must not look on goblin men, you must not look on goblin men, you must not look on goblin men, you must not look on goblin men...._

She screamed silently in frustration, wondering, grasping frantically at information, trying to understand what her other half meant. What about goblin men? She wasn't looking at goblin men. What was going on here? Why was she so worried? What was wrong with this man standing before her? He wasn't more dangerous than the Joker, surely....

Why not? Why wasn't he more dangerous than the clown man? What was going on here? This was different, strange, beyond her experience, but not... she was being thrown off. Something was throwing her off. There was something clamoring for her attention, an eager child bouncing in its seat, trying to catch her eye, but it wasn't, suddenly, the fact that there was something dangerous about this man. It wasn't so far away as all that. There was something closer to home screaming at her. She hated the screaming. Something was snarling, screaming, ranting and raving, raging like a mad thing, and suddenly she felt something shoving hard between her legs, something sinking into her belly, something burning against her thighs and her lips, and her fingers tingled with a strange numbness. Who was reaching out to her? What was happening?

Flashes of pictures were swimming through her mind, but nothing substantial, all of it steamy and wispy and evanescent as smoke. She couldn't grab anything, couldn't touch and see any of the truth, any of the depth of the images flashing through her head, phantom wingbeats of ghostly butterflies in her mind. She bit her lip, and blood came. She needed to focus, needed to see, needed to understand....

_You must not look at goblin men...._

She stilled, blinking furiously. She shook herself back to reality, and looked around. The fat man was bleeding from his mouth, a stream of crimson he didn't even seem to notice as it stained his shirt. The old man was on his knees in front of her, her hand wrapped around his wrist. He was staring up at her with something akin to terror on his face. Eight gouges, four on each side of his face, were quickly filling with blood and beginning to spill over. His free hand was wrapped around her left wrist, and her right hand was wrapped around the offending appendage that dared to touch her. The sweaty faced man with the lank black hair was giggling and rocking, backed up against the wall. The three teenagers cowered near the swivel chair she had so recently vacated, staring at her with big eyes. They weren't a trio of teenage thugs anymore, they were just helpless little boys.

_You must not look on goblin men...._

Don't look at the Joker, she realized. If she looked at him, something would happen. She didn't know what, but something freakish would occur. She'd already lost some time - something that hadn't happened since she was a little girl, since she'd killed her oldest brother. But she'd been watching the men and thinking and feeling and then suddenly the old man who was

_(you must not look on goblin me, you must not buy their fruits)_

so sweet and gentle was clawed up by professionally manicured fingernails and held in place by slender hands missing their black gloves. Her eyes, she could feel them, were burning and blue as hell, sliced through with shards of storm gray steel, crackling with electric cobalt fury. She stared down at the old man, and realized what was wrong with him, why he was settling her hackles up, why her nerves were shrieking at her that he was dangerous. He wasn't more dangerous than the Joker, not by a long shot, but he was one of the few things she hated more than anything else except Carmine Falcone.

The old man was a pedophile.

And the crystalline scream trying to batter through her shields was the woman she loved as a sister, with violet glass eyes and death in her smile.

Crystal Persephone Phoebe Damundo.

Dannielle Spinelli looked down at the old man, and smiled. It was like ice, but colder, freezing to the very center of the marrow. Her eyes blazed. She snarled, a soft snarling rictus grin with knife sharp edges and serpentine teeth, lips whiter than corpse-sweet cyanide death. She slowly peeled her fingers away from the old man's wrists, and drew back her hands, holding them up by her sides in the age-old symbol of no-harm. She smiled a scream, her eyes wide in her skull. She glanced at the Joker from the corner of her eye as she moved one hand slowly to the brim of her top hat and restraightened it. Her mouth was a soft, cruel, Cupid's bow, silver in the pale light. Teeth flashed again.

The old man smiled, a tentative olive branch. She smiled again, and lunged.

_Grab his head in both slender hands_

_**(you must not look on goblin men)**_

_Tighten her grip and tense her shoulders_

**_(you must not buy their fruits)_**

_Wrench with her shoulders, pull with her arms_

**_(Who knows upon what soil they fed their hungry thirsty roots?)_**

_Snap his neck with a sickening crack! _

Danni smiled and turned to the Joker. He was watching her with that same rictus grin. She grinned wider, her eyes suddenly bright with a strange, child-like happiness. He came over to her, her clown boss with the ruby red mouth, and he put a hand on her shoulder. She laid her cheek on the leather gloved hand. Happiness purred inside her as she thought of the cracking noise of snapping spine, the way the light faded from those baby blue eyes. She hated child molestors. She'd butcher them all if she could.

Then she remembered. Ice. Molten glass. Pain. Tears. Blood. A sobbing child hiding behind a bloodlusting valkyrie. Glass knives made of flesh stabbing deep into white marble covered with ice. Violet eyes brimming with tears and the urge to slaughter.

"We need to go."

"Oh?" He asked, cocking his head.

Danni shook herself, trying to keep herself cohesive, trying to keep herself together. If she started losing time again, she might get herself, or someone, killed. She had to shake off any after-effects of killing the old man, of the Joker's presence. She had to get to Crystal. She had to save her. But where was she? The only reason she even knew the blonde woman was in danger was because they're particular gifts had combined for one briek moment, a spark of joint psychometry that had allowed Danni the chance to hear Crystal's screams for help, a chance for Crystal to reach the edges of Danielle's clairvoyance. None of the four had strong gifts, except Sadie, and hers came with a price. So whatever was happening to the ice-eyed vaudeville girl was bad enough that her suffering had boosted the call out to sympathetic ears and minds, and allowed her to reach Danni's brainwaves, catch the brunette's attention. Which meant one thing: Crystal was with Salvatore Maroni, and there was absolutely nothing Ms. Spinelli could do about it.

She gritted her teeth, felt an ache begin spreading through her jaw as the pressure began to build. Her hands clenched into tight fists, and suddenly she needed gloves. Forget showing off her manicure - she wanted her black leather gloves back. They were like a security blanket, comforting, bolstering her courage. Danni bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. She hated this. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. The Joker was not at fault - she knew that. This had begun way before all of the clown man's personal vendettas. But now they had him, and he either needed to lend a helping hand or get the hell out of their lives. Otherwise, the four of them would kill him.

_Focus, focus, focus._

Her madness grabbed at her, sinking teeth into her awareness and forcing her to put some thought into what was going on with Crystal, forcing her to think about the men around her, and ignore the throbbing, lancing pain beginning to stab through the frontal lobe of her brain, fragmenting her skull. She needed to do something. About all of this.

"We need to get home soon," she told the Joker.

She was right. Her instincts, her heart, whatever... they told her that she needed to be home before Crystal got there, or there would be trouble. And Sadie needed to come home, as well. Sadie, sweet and pixie-faced and petite as a child, was warm and cuddly enough to thaw Crystal out once she got home. When Rose came home, they'd order takeout, watch a movie, and they'd all be fine eventually. But someone had to be there when Crystal got home or she was likely to slit her own wrists and bleed to death in the bathtub. Or she'd end up in the hospital because they'd get to her before she managed to bleed out, and then people would end up in intensive care because of the blonde cabaret girl's frantic attempts to escape the sterilized prison place.

"Home?" The Joker echoed.

If there was menace in his voice, she ignored it. She had a responsibility to her family - Rose, Crystal, and Sadie. She needed to get home and take care of her "sisters." If the clown man had an issue, he could take it up with her fists and Crystal's pocket knife. Rose would take a glass bottle to him eventually, as well. That'd be interesting to watch.

"Yeah," she snapped, snatching the black silk top hat off of her head. She clamped the brim between her teeth and reached into the pocket of her slacks, grabbing her black leather gloves and pulling them onto her hands. The cool leather slid comfortingly over her fingers, snug against her skin, and she grinned. Maybe she'd keep the gloves next time she went with the painted man with a passion for anarchy. She scruffed her hair, letting air breathe against her scalp for a moment, and then popped the top hat back on her head. She sucked in a breath and actually looked at the Joker. She didn't even glance at the corpse at her feet, or the criminals and madmen arrayed around her. "We need to get home. Crystal's in trouble. She needs help."

"Help?"

Suddenly his voice was sharp as broken glass. Green eyes blazed like burning absinthe. The brunette woman turned to regard the clown man, whose eyes were focused on her, scalding her with their intensity. Her face drained of whatever color might have been there. He took a step forward, full of malevolent promise, and she had to bite back the urge to step back and turn, scramble away, run for her life. She was not a coward, and she was not afraid of this madman. Where had the comraderie gone to? When she'd snapped the crazy old man's neck, such euphoria had washed through her, and she'd just loved everyone for a moment. She wanted to cuddle the clown prince of crime, kiss his grease paint smeared mouth, feel his fingers biting into her skin. Now there was tension strung between them like arcs of electricity waiting to bite.

"She'll do something bad if we aren't there when she gets home," she explained briefly, and reached into her undershirt, into her bra, and pulled out the thin, jagged piece of metal she kept snug against the center piece of her underwire. She cut herself pulling it out, but she didn't care. She was wearing all black at that moment, down to bra and panties. Only her tights were white. Blood wouldn't stain black fabric. But if she needed to defend herself with anything more than teeth and claws, fists and spiked heels, the tiny piece of razor sharp metal would come in handy. Not that she had anything against the Joker, or thought him untrustworthy. She trusted him.

She trusted him to get pissed off if he thought for even a second that she was disrespecting him.

"How bad?"

"She'll attempt to kill herself," Danni replied, and kicked off her heels. She never ran in heels, and she might have to run to the van. Running in heels was a sure way to break an ankle. She needed her ankles whole and unbroken if she wanted to keep her job at the Queen of Swords. Dancers with broken ankles weren't dancers - they were the audience. "We can't let that happen, all right?"

"We?"

"Are you gonna repeat everything I say, boss?" She demanded, annoyance tinging her voice. "Because I absolutely hate it when someone who's smarter than the average bear decides they're going to copy me just to piss me off."

"You think I'm copying you? Just to piss you off, eh?" He demanded, his voice a growl.

There was something strained about it, sand being shoved through a glass tube. It made her ears ache, her heart pound like a jackhammer in her chest. Her ribs felt as if they might snap at any second under the onslought of her own pulse. She bit her tongue and drew in a soft breath. This man could make her feel fear. That was intriguing. She hadn't felt real fear since her fifth grade science teacher had thrown her against the wall of the supply closet and shoved his hand down her pants, pinching and poking her until she knew she'd have bruises. That had frightened her for almost a full minute - until she'd gotten angry and started plotting her revenge. There were no revenge plans this time. There was only the thought that if the Ace of Knaves tried to hurt her, she wouldn't fight him.

And she didn't even know why.

_We must not look at goblin men...._

Her inner voice. Her innate warning system. Her true self. Her insanity. The reason she must not look on goblin men was for a very good reason - she would fall to the Joker's feet and worship him because looking on goblin men could put you under their spell and what a goblin man this crazed, psychopathic killer was. Her mind kept screaming the truth at her, and she heard, but she could not heed. She needed the Joker - she knew that. She needed him because he was like her, a piece of him missing, a piece of him that made him human had vanished like smoke on the breeze. They were alike in that way. But she was different from him in that she had tried to mold herself into a spot of the world, a place in a life that was not her own. She was trying to be "normal." He despised normal.

And where were all these insights coming from? What was causing all of these thoughts? What was happening? Unless... unless they weren't just her thoughts. It had happened before that she and others had melded together, one mind, one train of thought. It didn't last long, but it gave them all a new perspective on life. Was this, then, what was occurring here? She was thinking about getting to Crystal, thinking hard about making it to her friend's side to keep her from doing something drastic that would ruin much of what they'd established these last few years, and so her mind reached out, melded, joined, becoming one for just a moment. Danni could taste ice on her tongue, but... but she smelled roses, and the world was tinged with a faint haze of blue, as if the world were being viewed through a square of smoky, blue glass.

She chewed her bottom lip, hating the fact that she wasn't exactly a normal girl. Things would be less complicated if she were. But right now, for the _last time,_ she would focus on getting them out of there. They needed to get back to the apartment, didn't he get that?

Oh, wait, he was talking.

"I'm sorry, what?" She asked. He stared at her. "What? I missed that."

He grabbed her wrist and began hauling her toward the exit. He stopped only for a moment, and turned to the three teenage boys. "I will meet you... charmers... tomorrow at seven pm, sharp. Got it?"

They all nodded and made sounds of acquiescence. The Joker grabbed Danni again and yanked her outside. The sunlight blinded her for a moment, but she blinked rapidly and forced herself to squint past the blinding light as the Joker's henchman opened the back door for the clown man and the vaudeville girl. Danni hastily grabbed her hat when it threatened to topple off of her head. The clown prince of crime pushed her into the car. She would've offered a retaliating kick to the belly for his rough treatment, but she was still trying to separate herself from the other personalities shoving themselves into her skull and the disorientation was too much for her to deal with and be aggressive with the Joker at the same time.

"Where to, boss?" The bozo in the driver's seat asked.

"Back to the hideout."

"The hideout?" Danni demanded, sounding so much like Crystal it almost made her shiver. "Our apartment is suddenly the hideout? Because that's not totally bizarre."

"The blonde's in trouble?" Joker demanded. She nodded. "Then we go back to the hideout."

"Why do you care?" Danni asked, pushing a lock of hair out of her face. "Don't try to tell me you like us. That's just crap. You don't like anyone except yourself and the Goddess of Kaboom." She hastily pulled off the black tux shirt, trying to cool her flaming skin. "So what's the deal? And since when is our apartment the hideout?"

"It's a place to lay low. It's a hideout. And no one messes with my property. You four belong to me. If someone screws with you, they're dead."

"We are not your property, Mr. J. We're people. And we kill people. Why would you want to own people who kill people?"

"People don't kill people. Monsters kill people," the clown man murmured, and brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek, catching her eye. She found her blue-grey gaze captured by viridian mirrors reflecting nothing but pain and chaotic grins. "And you, Danni Doll, are a perfect monster. And that's why I want you and the Damundo girls. Because you are perfect monsters. Which makes you my property, Danni."

"Are you actually being serious?" She asked him, curious. He grinned.

"Danni Doll, I'm never serious," he replied, showing yellowed teeth. For some reason, it didn't disgust her. She smiled back, on a whim. The clown continued, "I'm always smiling. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Do you like me?" She asked suddenly. She wanted to bite her lip as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but she didn't. Why she'd asked such a stupid, juvenile question, she had no idea. But she'd asked it, and she was not afraid of the consequences. She wanted to know the answer to her question. Whether he would give her any kind of answer, and whether he would tell her the truth, remained to be seen. But she wanted to know. Did he like her? Was he even capable of liking someone? Because... because this was weirdly close to flirting. And it was kind of freaking her out.

As she had expected, he didn't say anything. He moved away from her and stared straight ahead as they drove towards the apartment. Danni stared out the window, her mind ping-pong-ing between two very bizarre subjects: Crystal Damundo and the enigma that was the Joker.

.

.

.

.

_So, I know this was a little more light-hearted by the end than the rest of the fic, but Danni is going to end up being Joker's favorite until the scene with the MCU getting blown up. Why does she stop? You'll see. And as for what's wrong with Danni, being around the Joker affects all the girls differently. One of the things it does to Danni is break down her psychic shields, and her shields are what keep her grounded in the present when her powers take her to the past and future. And so she starts losing time (blacking out) and it freaks her out. A disoriented psychic is bad. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please review._

_And the lines "We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits, etc...." is from the poem "Goblin Market" by Christina Rosetti. It's always been freaky to me, and it just flowed through me and into the chapter._


	28. 27 Tickets

**Chapter Twenty-Seven  
Tickets  
**.

.

.

Rose shivered. The icy jets of frigid air blasting down on her from the overhead vents gelled her sweat to her skin. She shivered again, but not with cold, as memories of other things sliding down her skin superimposed themselves in her brain. Biting her cheek, she picked up a folder full of invoices for Mr. Fox's office and proceeded to make stacks based on alphabetization. She hummed under her breath, through lips tightly clenched to keep the song she knew was waiting to be sung locked inside her mouth. In her head, she could hear the lyrics that reminded her so much of the painted clown man…

_Come on, babe, I know a whoopee spot,  
Where the gin is cold, but the piano's hot…._

She shivered for the third time, and suddenly was reminded of Dirty Dancing, and the scene where the girl, Baby, was learning to dance to that song with the Hawaiian feel, the drum roll, while Patrick Swayze was going nuts trying to force her to learn it. She thought about that for a moment, trying to figure out what had ripped that image so strongly into the foreground of her mind. Why was she thinking about one of the classic romance films that had shaped her ideals of men in her youth? That, and the High Road to China, the Shadow, and so many other films. Why was she thinking about that kind of film? And why in relation to the Joker?

She was still thinking about it, her mind racing through the perhaps ten minutes of dance lessons between Baby and Johnny Castle, her thoughts pausing on the scene with Patrick Swayze bare chested, holding onto the girl with her toned abs, her tight, white, midriff baring top and gray jogging panties over black tights. A stab of jealousy hit her in the chest, and she blinked, shocked at herself. What the hell? What was wrong with her? Was she jealous of Baby being cradled by an actor she didn't even find attractive anymore just because a scene in a twenty-year-old movie made her think of the Joker?

_I'm losing it,_ she thought bleakly, wondering what her problem was_. I'm just letting the marbles roll out of my head, that's what my problem is. All my marbles are jumping ship. How do I get insane clown man from half-naked old guy who wasn't old at the time?_

"Rose," her secondary boss's voice broke into her thoughts, distracting her. She looked up into kindly, dark brown eyes still bright with life and smiled at Lucius Fox, the man who employed her as his secretary. She brushed a strand of blood auburn hair back from her face and cursed the fact that, due to some crazy clown presence in her apartment, she hadn't had enough time to properly style her hair. Instead, it was hauled back from her face in a hideous ponytail and clenched tightly in the ham-fisted grip of a dark green, velvet scrunchie. She winced when her perfectly manicured nails caught in her tightly pulled hair, but hid it behind her plastered on smile, which she widened fractionally for Lucius' benefit.

"Good morning, Mr. Fox. What can I do for you, today? I'm afraid I'm not finished filing those invoices yet-"

"Oh, don't worry about that, Rose. Mr. Wilcox says he just sent them up to you fifteen minutes ago. Even you can't file that quickly - you're only human."

Rosaline smiled up at the older, dark-skinned man, a more natural smile this time, her eyes darting to take in every detail about the older man. She worried about him, she really did. He was kind to her, kinder than most men had any reason to be, even if they were trying to sweeten her up for something more than what she was willing to offer. She'd known him since she was nineteen, when she'd first come to Wayne Enterprises seeking employment. That single interview had been her one-way ticket out of what would have been a life-consuming hell. At sixteen, she'd been more professional than most adults, and had more marketable skills. Bruce Wayne hadn't been able to turn her away. It was only six weeks later that Lucius had seen her on one of her breaks and decided to tell Mr. Wayne that Rosaline had to work for the Queen of Swords as a dancer. He'd given her her biggest break in life - she wasn't going to be quick to forget it. And that meant asking the question that she was certain needed to be asked.

"Mr. Fox... are you all right?"

The redheaded vaudeville girl asked softly, intently, wondering if he would be angry with her. She had a hard time imagining Mr. Fox getting upset about anything really - he was so calm and collected. But then again... everyone had their issues, their angry buttons, the things that, if pressed, made them tick away until they exploded. She just hadn't discovered what those buttons were for Lucius Fox. Maybe being too in his face about personal things was one of them.

For some reason, the idea made the backs of her eyes sting, as if her brain were telling her that this was the part where she was supposed to cry and her heart was telling her that she was out of luck because there weren't anymore tears left. For a long moment, Rosaline just stared at Lucius, a moment that seemed to last forever, but she knew was only the span of scant seconds. She waited for him to turn on her, for him to attack her, for him to say something that would shove her into the obsidian ocean that laid itself and its eldritch foundations in the ethereal subconscious of her mind, something that would summon up the phantasmagorical demons that called themselves her inner darkness, her Dark Passenger. For a long moment in second-hand eternity, she waited for the last damning words she needed, and she realized that she was in a lot of trouble for a lot of different reasons.

"Yes, Rose, I'm just fine. Just feeling my age," he said.

She breathed a silent, secret sigh of relief. She absently tucked another loose strand of hair back and tried to focus on Lucius's next words while listening to her mind trying to figure out exactly what epiphany she'd just come to. She was in trouble - the cabaret girl could figure that out easily. Her mind was wandering all over the place, flashing from real events in time to scenes in movies to the Plutonian shores of her own subconscious, all within the span of seconds. Her attention span was fluxuating, trying to stretch and shrink, shrink and stretch. She was off kilter by a million degrees, and she had no idea why. Her heart was punching her chest, her brain body slamming her nervous system, and every nerve in her body was screaming at her to get up and move, just move. Her limbs practically ached with the need to get up and dance. Her entire being was scattered across the universe, and all she could really even try to half focus on was the fact that Lucius' bone-thin lips were still moving.

"I'm sorry, I must have missed that. I'm off in lala-land," she added, smiling self-deprecatingly and brushing an imaginary lock of hair from her cheek. This was a purely affected gesture at this point - it made her seem young and insecure, and it made Lucius Fox treat her with just a little more leeway than he would have otherwise. "Sorry about that, Mr. Fox. What did you say?"

"I said, Mr. Wayne was wondering if you might see him in his office in ten minutes. He knows how you are about getting ready for what might be intimidating events. He said you have ten to fifteen minutes to get the jutters out of your system and then make yourself presentable again."

"He's nice," she said suddenly, surprising herself. She hadn't meant to say that, hadn't meant for any kind of compliment to come out of her mouth. It was too personal to say, and her voice sounded far too young, too innocent, too... surprised. She sounded surprised that her boss, her favorite employer, was a nice man, despite all the things that he had done for her in the last two years. And somehow, almost like... like some kind of... of word vomit, she found herself speaking again, complimentary words about Gotham's multibillionaire playboy bachelor springing up out of her mouth like a fountain. "Mr. Wayne, I mean. He's a good guy. Most... most people don't see that." To her horror and astonishment, Rosaline found herself trying to defend Bruce Wayne to Mr. Fox. "Most people don't see the man behind the money, the person who donates to secret charities and rescues drowning kittens," she added with some embarrassment, remembering the brown puggle puppy (okay, so it hadn't been a kitten, after all) that had been tied up in a sack and sinking to the bottom of a swimming pool when one of the girls who took dance lessons at the Queen screamed that the cloth sack was _moving_ and Bruce had jumped in to get before anyone else had even thought to take a step. "People don't get that he's not just a rich playboy. He's... he's nice."

"Yes," Mr. Fox replied. "Yes, Rose, I know. Mr. Wayne is a better person than most people realize. It's good that you know that. You're a sharp girl."

All the auburn-haired dancing girl could do was blush, nod, and look away. Then she looked back to watch her supervisor walk away. After what seemed like a million years and was probably less than a million quarters of half-nano-seconds, she glanced at the clock, and saw she'd eaten up three of her fifteen minutes. Irritated, she shut the door to her little office, kicked off her high heels, and turned on the radio.

.

Rose tied her hair back in a tight ponytail again and glanced at her face in the compact mirror. With all powders and pastes reapplied after sweating them off during her ten minute work-out, she was ready to see Mr. Wayne in his office. Well, perhaps not ready. But close enough that she wasn't half a minute away from crying and demanding what she'd done wrong. Being called to people's offices had that effect on her.

She laid a hand on the door to the multibillionaire's office, and sucked in a breath, trying to relax.

_We're going on stage,_ the Dark Passenger murmured gently in her mind. For a moment, she could only whisper her thanks to it with silent words. _We're going to strut onto that stage and be as sexy, strong, and just fracking awesome as the best of us know how to be. We're show girls, that's what we are. That's what we're good at. This is just a show, that's all. Don't be afraid._

_I'm not afraid,_ she thought, and realized it was true. She clenched her teeth, baring them in what would have been a smile if she'd been anyone else, and got a firmer grip on the door handle. _I'm too busy doing other things to be afraid._

"Let's do this," she said, and opened the door.

Her steps were quick and light as she strode into the office, just the barest hint of the jazz walk in her gait. She had to fight to keep her hands at her sides instead of popping them out as jazz hands. She bit her tongue to keep herself in a bit more professional form as she came to stand in front of the black wood desk buffed to a highly polished sheen, almost mirror bright. She could see her own pale reflection in the gleaming brightness of the polished wood. The redhead stopped, almost coming to attention, though her hands slid from her sides to her back in the form of Air Force parade rest out of habit.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne," she said warmly, her lips stretching into a smile.

The handsome, billionaire playboy gave her an answering smile, almost as if he were amused by something. She had to smile in response, a real smile. There was just something about being around Bruce Wayne that made her happy to be in his office, a sort of charm that was more than just a means to get a pretty woman into his bed. She wasn't sure what it was, but she had always liked the fact that he had that strange charm. It was unlike anything she'd ever dealt with before, and unlikely to be the kind of thing she really needed to worry about in a male.

_Never underestimate your opposition,_ the Dark Passenger hissed. She could feel the phantom hackles rising as it tried to snarl at her, tried to intimidate her. She jabbed at it with a mental spike and got it to shut up and stop talking long enough to think.

"Good morning, Rosaline. You look... well, to be honest, you look like hell."

"Love you, too, boss," she murmured, answering instantly without thinking about what words might come out of her mouth. As soon as they registered in her mind, she blushed hotly, crimson fire stabbing through her cheeks. In the back of her mind, her inner darkness muttered, _Good game, twit._

_Rose...._

Words in her head, an image of wilting petals, pale mauve blackening with rot. She bit her cheek, the pain allowing her to stay focused, grounded in the real world. Her mind tried to wrench itself into some other time, some other place, a darkness that surrounded her stray thoughts and tried to suck her down into a place she struggled to stay out of, struggled to stay free of. She couldn't go back there, not in Bruce's office. There was something else inside the eyes of the rich man who employed her. Something dark and dangerous, something barbarian and savage. And if she were to lose herself now, so close to the savage shadows in Bruce Wayne's pretty boy blue eyes, she'd be in more trouble than her life was worth.

_Rose..._

_Rosaline...._

_Ace...._

_Rose....._

Four voices, four women, four calls from the depths of her psyche. She bit her cheek and struggled to ignore them. She tasted blood, and her eyes burned as they locked onto Bruce's face. Something in his expression told her that he knew she was struggling, knew she was fighting to stay sane, stay normal. The look on his face was sympathetic, kind. It had a promise etched across his features, a promise that he had a way out.

"It's nothing personal, Rose," he said aloud, though his face was keeping up half of a completely different conversation. "But that ear looks painful. Get in a fight?"

_Rose, I need you. Where are you?_

"Yeah," she said, grinning. Her teeth, she knew, were incredibly white and sharp, beautiful in their beastial gleaming. Nobody needed her so badly that she was going to walk down that path. Not right now. Not now. She pulled herself back to the conversation. "Yeah, I got in a fight, boss man. Best fight I've ever won. Never had so much fun in my life." She grinned wider, so wide her cheeks felt as if they would crack.

"You're serious." It wasn't a question.

"Oh," she murmured. "Oh, yes, I am."

"Good times?"

_Rose, please...._

"Damn right," she whispered. "Damn right."

"No one challenges you and wins, is that it?"

"No one can beat me in a fight, boss, you ought to know that. I fight like a tiger."

At this, Bruce Wayne laughed, a low chuckle that was equal parts black humor and dark savagery. She had to smile again as well, give a low, liquid silver velvet laugh that was like a shadow across the sun. Her nails, her eyelids, her lashes, her lips, and her scrunchie glinted like emerald glass knives of jagged sharpness as their laughter melted together like acid poison.

"More like a tiger lily," he said. "And speaking of tiger lilies, I have a proposition for you."

"Very well," she said. She couldn't not smile, her words sounded so formal and stilted, like something out of script. She acted as if she were doing him some kind of favor, and not the other way around. But it was all she could think to say. "What is it?"

"I want you to go to Hong Kong with Lucius."

_Rose! HELP!_

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_**So, here's the latest chapter. I hope you like it. I don't want everything to be all madness/death/lust/insanity/explosions/bombs/death. Plus, I need to get Rose out of the country for a little while. So here we are. You like?**_

_**Reviews are my life's blood.**_


	29. 28 Time Lapse

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**Time Lapse  
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Crystal woke in her own bed, the lavendar linen sheets soft and gentle against her skin. She blinked, surprised. How had she gotten to this point? She'd been leaning against the door to the apartment, keyless, unable to make it into the safe haven beckoning to her, and then... and then... and then what? What had happened? How had she gotten into the apartment, into her room? None of her sisters were strong enough to carry her.

_It was him,_ the Good Child whispered, and the terror in her voice slammed into the blonde cabaret girl like a frigid tsunami.

For a moment, Crystal couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't think. She and the innocent, naive, frightened creature in the back of her psyche fused together, and she had to shove her fist into her mouth and sink her teeth into her own meat to keep from screaming. She wasn't supposed to be afraid, wasn't supposed to know what terror and fear meant. She sucked in air around her fist, the wind of it whistling through her teeth. She dragged in lungfuls of air, trying to smother the rising panic surging up inside her chest. She bit down harder, tasted blood, tried to drown her panic with the crimson sweetness of it. She tasted copperpanicfear and squeezed her eyes shut tightly against the hot terror swamping her heart. Immediately, as soon as her eyelids fluttered down and she no longer had to see what she was and where she was, the ice began creeping into her veins, and frost coated the inside of her mouth. She could taste the sharpness of frozen air in her nostrils, the stinging tang of it cutting her skin and it felt right, felt good. She was in control. She was ice cold, strong, frigid, unbreakable. She was ice.

She was ice.

Crystal Damundo opened her eyes and threw the covers off of her legs. She looked down, scanning herself, and saw that someone had put her in her favorite pair of pajamas - midnight violet silk tank top and black cropped yoga pants, stretchy and striped down the sides with pale lilac shimmer. Almost instantly, she felt better. Clothes made the woman, some people said. Her version of that old saying was that clothes made the killer.

The exhausted blonde was suddenly wide awake, and she was on her feet before she had time to register that she'd moved. Her heart thumped with effort, and she realized she'd been in bed longer than she had any right to expect. She touched her ribs, and beneath the thin silk of her camisole she felt the ridges of gauze bandages, the slickness of medical adhesive tape. She turned, scanning the room, to see if anyone remained in her bedroom. It was perhaps lucky that no one was there. Crystal felt oddly detached, as if things were happening around her but nothing could happen to her, as if she were invisible, intangible. She felt memories trying to push at her, but she blocked them out. They couldn't touch her, either, those memories. She was surrounded by a wall of glass.

She looked into her full length mirror, shivering as a blast of icy air touched her skin. The silvery glass showed her face, pale and washed out. Her cheeks were gaunt, her eyes sunken, midnight violet flames burning in corpse gray sockets. Her skin was just a touch more alive than the color of a dead body. Her bones, cheek bones and hip bones and wrist bones and collar bones, stuck out against the paper thinness of her flesh. Her lips were swollen and bruised, and for a moment something touched her mind -

_a thousand savage kisses against her lips  
she's screaming begging  
red makeup smearing against her skin as she clutches at purple velvet  
can't refuse can't deny need need need need  
screaming a name as something slices through her pain like ice -_

but she hastily shoved the flashback into the very deepest pits of her subconscious. She didn't want to think about what had happened after she'd returned from Salvatore Moroni's. Not right now. She didn't want to think about leather gloved hands and red smeared lips twisted by old knife scars and -

_Stop it, stop it!_

The Good Child cried, moaned, sobbed at her, thrusting tiny tenterhooks into her brain and dragging her back to the present. She wasn't going to think. Not right now. She needed to know what day it was, what time it was, what was going on. She had learned, from the Good Child, that the painted clown man with a God complex had, for some reason, carried her from the doorway into the apartment, into her room, and laid her on her bed. Had he done more?

_Rose?_

Crystal called to her sister hesitantly. She had the strangest feeling that Rose couldn't hear her. She didn't know why, but the warm, pale green glow that was Rose's mind was distant, far away, too far for Crystal to reach in her present state. It made the blonde feel strangely, achingly alone. She hugged herself, her hands biting into old bruises on her upper arms, but she refused to allow herself to wince. There were other recourses, she tried to reason with herself as panic threatened to rise up again. She had Danni, of course, and Sadie. Danni ought to be home, and Sadie... well, the Queen of Swords wasn't so far away that she couldn't reach the petite pixie with the sable silk hair with her ice-sharp mind.

_Sadie? Danni?_ She waited for a moment, in silence. _Domino? _She tried Sadie's nickname, wondering if that would work better. _Hello? Hello?!?!_

_Hmmm?_ The strange, sleepy stirring was all the blonde needed. She'd woken Danni up, true, but Danni was _here._ She was in the apartment, waiting for Crystal to wake up. Sadie was here, too. They were both here. Why Rose was not there, she had no idea, but she could tackle that problem later. At least the other two were there. Some of the tension in Crystal's body drained out of her at the thought of her sister and best friend. Things weren't as bad as... as bad as... as bad as they could always turn out to be. Things were okay. They were _still_ okay. They would always _be_ okay. Nothing would mess that up.

Crystal walked to the doorway of her room, opened the door with an ear-splitting creak from ill-oiled hinges, and stepped into the Great Room. Half-sitting, half-lying in the big, cushy arm chair across the room was Danni, who rubbed her eyes and blinked at her blearily for a moment before her eyes snapped open wide and she was on her feet, grinning, before Crystal had time to start thinking about trying to twitch her mouth into an answering smile. Danni had her arms around Crystal's neck before the blonde had time to say a hoarse, "Morning."

"Afternoon is more like it," Danni said, smiling. "You've been asleep for three days. Rose wanted to stay until you woke up, but we made her leave. Guess what?"

"Hmm?"

"Bruce asked Rose to go to Hong Kong with Mr. Fox, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Of course, Sadie made fun of her because of that one Thompson Nerd book, and Rose kept telling us that if her plane crashed, we knew we were supposed to go looking for her on a desert island, but she called us when she got there and I told her you were still asleep and... and I totally need to slow down, don't I?" Danni asked suddenly, and her smile turned sheepish. "I'm gonna give you a run down of the last three days, okay? Nothing major happened, but just so you're not lost, okay?"

"Okay," Crystal whispered, a sharp pain begininning its lancing path through the back of her skull.

She rubbed her temples and moved as if to sit on the couch, but her movements were arrested by the sight of the clown man stretched out on the couch, snoring softly. She blinked, and stared at him, suddenly hating him more than she'd ever hated anyone else in her life, even Moroni. She wanted to kill him. Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles popping in protest as the flesh around them mottled white and red. Her nails sliced into her palms, and she could feel sticky, warm wetness seeping between her fingers. She bit her swollen, painful bottom lip, and her teeth cut into the flesh like tissue paper, bringing blood. A vein in her forehead throbbed. She could see her pulse, a black throbbing shadow, in the corner of her right eye, as she fairly shook with rage. Her entire body shuddered with hate. Why? Why did she suddenly despise him, loath him, wish him deader than last month's carrion?

Because the moment she'd seen him lying on the couch - _her_ couch, in _her_ living room, in _her_ apartment - she had felt safe, and an unexplainable tender, sweet feeling had surged up into her chest, warm and soft, and her mind had tried to automatically reach out to him like some needy psychic female in a paranormal romance novel. She bit her tongue, despising herself, and turned away to keep from making a mistake that might get her killed.

"Let's go in the other room," the blonde psychopath hissed between clenched teeth, and stalked off - albeit quietly - back into her bedroom. Danni came in right behind her and shut the door quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping criminal clown.

"Why is he still here?!" Crystal demanded, a whispered scream of fury and pain. Her eyes were suddenly burning wet, and something scalding dripped down her cheek. She flinched before she realized she was crying. Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him! She hated him! _She hated him!_ If he died now, she'd scream and squeal for joy, jump up and down like a little girl, dance around like a crazy teenager, do the Monkey and the Electric Slide, laugh until she cried. She'd celebrate until she puked up her guts, she was so drunk from partying. That's what she would do if the Joker suddenly died of a heart attack right this very minute.

_You're lying!_ The Good Child shrieked, and the blonde woman nearly jumped out of her skin.

_Shut up, I'm not!_

_Liar! You're falling in love with him! You are! What is wrong with you? Are you sick or something?!_

_**THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!!!!**_

Her violet eyes blazed as she pinned Dannielle with her stare. "So," she said, as if she were not at this very moment scant inches away from slitting her own wrists, just to drown out the Good Child. "What's been going on?"

Danni launched into an explanation of where Rose was, and how the Joker had gone with Danni back to the apartment because some sense of clairvoyancy had given the brunette sociopath an inkling that Crystal was in serious trouble. When the blue-eyed woman detailed how the clown man had lifted Crystal into his arms and carried her like a damsel in distress into the apartment and into her room, the blonde gave a convulsive jerk. Her heart was skipping beats in her chest, and she couldn't get enough air. Danni glanced at her, but decided it would only do more damage to bring attention to Crystal's current condition. Truth be told, she looked like hell. But the other woman wasn't going to say that. Asking Crystal if something was the matter was an almost sure way of getting eaten by psychic energy. So Danni went on about how the Joker had started to kick Crystal, and how Danni had attacked him, and somehow she'd ended up dazed on the floor, bleeding from a gash across her head.

"He... he beat me?" Crystal murmured, shocked. She didn't remember any of this. All she remembered were strong arms lifting her, and kisses, and silk wet with tears, and the feeling of being safe for the first time. "Why?"

"I wondered that, too, at first. I thought Rose must have been wrong, that we were all wrong, but then you... you started moving. I didn't think you would. I thought he'd kick you to death and then beat me or worse. I wasn't sure. I was pretty out of it from the head wound. I had a concussion, though I hadn't known that at the time. But you were moving. One minute you were on the floor, stock still, and the next you were like a tiger. You were up, on your feet, dodging, kicking, clawing. You got him pretty good."

The blonde woman blinked. Was that what he'd been trying to do? Goad her into fighting him? Torment her until she snapped and got to her feet, got into the fighting mood, and tried to kick his crazy clown ass? If that had been his goal, then it had worked. Did he really know her that well, that he could manipulate her that way? Danni continued to explain that after they'd basically kicked the crap out of each other for what seemed like a million years but had really been about half an hour, they'd been locked together, as if they were going to crush each other to death.

"Then he said, 'Let's dance.' And you kissed him."

Violet eyes wide, Crystal blinked and shuddered. She couldn't have said if it was from pleasure at the idea or revulsion. She had kissed the Joker? Willingly? What... how... why... what? _What_?! How? This was freaking impossible. She would never kiss that demented clown freak! No way! But... but Danielle had absolutely no reason to lie. None. She was Crystal's best friend. They'd known each other since early elementary school. Why would Danni lie now? About this, something so desperately important?

She realized Danni had been talking the whole time the blonde woman had been spazzing when the word "orgasm" punched through her preoccupation.

"What?"

"You had an orgasm."

Blink. Blink blink. Blink blink blink.

"What?"

"While you were guys were banging in the other room, you had a-"

"WHAT?!"

The golden haired vaudeville singer leapt to her feet, her knees protesting the suddenness with which they were forced to take her weight. She had been perhaps a hair's breadth away from settling down happily on the nice, cushy bed to get comfortable and enjoy listening to her best friend tell her about the time she had missed out on since being raped (again) by the sleezy Italian mob boss who called himself the Mafia head. But now... now! Now she was pacing rapidly across the floor, wearing holes in the lush, violet carpet, her hands clamped so tightly around her arms that her knuckles ached and her flesh felt like jelly beneath her fingertips. Her eyes stung, and she couldn't breathe. Her heart hurt, like a giant bee sting. Her mouth tingled and buzzed, and she tasted liquid pain.

Banged? Banged? BANGED!? As in, fucked? As in, slept with? As in, had sex with? Insert A into B here? Pornographic actions? The beast with two backs? The wild thing? IT?! As juvenile as it sounded, the only word she couldn't think of when it came to what Danni claimed had transpired was "sex." She couldn't possibly have had sex with Joker. It was just... no. There was absolutely no way. Why would he even do that? Why would she? She wouldn't, that's all. What was Danni talking about?

"Cryssie," Danni whispered, and the blonde woman found herself confronted by a pair of soft, blue eyes, gentle and full of compassion. Well, that was certainly a laugh. Danni was crazier than any of them. She couldn't feel what everyone else felt, only fake it. That's all she could do, was fake it. And Crystal wasn't suckered into it for a moment. Danni was just screwing with her mind. She didn't know why, but the brunette was no longer her ally, her friend, but her deadly enemy. The blue-eyed witch was going to die. "Cryssie, listen to me."

_Listen to her,_ the Good Child demanded, and Crystal tasted the metalic tang of spinal steel, of freshly grown backbone. _Listen to her. She's our friend. Our friend! She wouldn't hurt us._

_Get bent and die,_ the blonde snarled. The Good Child moaned, and suddenly Crystal found herself on her knees on the ground, gasping for breath, sobbing silently, as a flood gate opened up and something intangible and razor sharp flooded her skull. She screamed in her mind, screamed until she thought her head would break, and the Good Child sobbed, _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you're not giving me a choice. I was trying to help! I was just trying to help!!_

Flashes of sensation, hints of scent and sound and sight, and she was drowning in it as the full weight of memory plunged her into abyssal recolle-

_Plunging in and out, ripping, filling, hating  
Screaming as the world collapses, pinpoint of a single action  
Knife of flesh stabbing  
Wicked fire flooding her veins, melting all the ice she has ever hoarded in her body  
blinding electric violet lightning flashing in her eyes  
tsunami wave pounding against her bruises and pain as he cuts her  
gasps and cries and he's inside her, in her, pushing into her  
need it, need it, must, can't, have to, yes  
screaming sweet red blood  
__so much blood in her mouth on her tongue  
his name his name need it his name  
Jack...._

Jack. She shuddered, her entire body convulsing, and she fell in a heap to the floor, whimpering, as that name pulsed in her brain.

_Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack._

"Crystal, can you hear me?" Danni whispered, touching her shoulder. "Crys?"

_Jack...._

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So, two chapters in 1 day. You likey? I hope so. Things are gonna start picking up now. Next chapter involves the Gambol death scene. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Reviews make my heart sing like a dying canary. =D So, reviews?


	30. 29 Down the Rabbit Hole

OMG! Thank you! Thank you! I have 100 reviews! This is one of only two fanfics to ever get that many reviews. I am SO HAPPY! I love you guys!

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**Chapter Twenty-Nine  
****Down the Rabbit Hole**

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_Come on, Alice!  
__(Come on, Alice!)  
__Time for you to go.  
__Time to follow me  
__Down the rabbit hole...._

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_Buh-BOOM_!

That was what the redheaded vaudeville girl heard as the private jet from Wayne Industries touched down upon the ground. With a _BUMP!_ A huge _THUMP!_ And a _CRASH_! The private plane thundered down the private runway like a freight train on super-meth. The hulking steel behemoth shuddered to a grinding halt like a California earthquake. Amber and crimson lights pinged on and off overhead. A warm, gnarled hand the color of powdered chocolate touched a young, slender shoulder, shook it lightly. A gentle wakeup call. Eyelashes the color of ebony silk dusted with powdered absinthe fluttered open. Emerald eyes blinked away the blurriness of sleep before focusing.

Rosaline Damundo stretched her long arms high over her head. Her spine crackled, and the tune to _Mr. Cellophane_ popped into her brain. Humming aloud to the show song, she glanced at Mr. Fox, who nodded to her, smiling.

"We're back in Gotham."

The light above that meant "please fasten your seat belts" blinked off suddenly. Rose got to her feet and grabbed her overhead bag, a humongous suitcase that had once been solid black before Sadie had used gold and metallic green thread to stitch the words to several poems into the dark canvas. Grabbing her black leather purse, she rolled her shoulders, trying to rid herself of the I-just-slept-on-an-airplane stiffness in her upper body.

"There's a limo waiting outside the airport," Lucius went on, "that'll take you to your apartment. You know the driver – Ms. Potts?" Rose nodded. The older man continued, "She'll make sure you get home. I know you want to see your sisters and Danni."

"Good," the redhead replied. She smiled at Lucius, but the tiredness in her eyes made the strain of it obvious. "I need to go and make sure the girls aren't hip deep in some kind of trouble."

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Mentally exhausted, Rose laid one hand on the door to her apartment, casting out with her mind. Emptiness, blankness, and the faint residue of sparking violet sugar-crack, burning hot gold dust, glittering cobalt diamond ice, and even dimmer, softer, a strange black dusting of ragged, red-lined stuff tasting of gunpowder and smelling of gasoline. Crystal, Sadie, Danni... and underneath it all, the psychic perfume of the clown prince of crime. But only residue. Not the spark itself, the flame that burned cold. There was no one in the apartment. It was perfectly safe.

She was perfectly alone.

The cabaret girl pushed open the door. Glanced around. Never could be too careful. But there was no one and nothing. Nothing, except the humongous box on the kitchen table. Green eyes flashed over the package on the table. White paper, red ribbon striped with black. Shiny. The box itself was three feet tall and pretty wide. She didn't hear any mysterious ticking noises so it didn't seem to be a bomb. Still... Rose poked it with one emerald manicured fingernail. Nothing happened. The green-eyed cabaret girl glared at it, but felt no malice around it.

Rose untied the ribbon with hands that shook and read the pale green card. Her heart thumped. The thoughts in her head tasted like Easter grass. Dark purple crayon bled onto the grass green paper like alien blood.

_Happy Unbirthday, Rose._

– _Mr. J_

Happy unbirthday? What? She hadn't heard that phrase since she was a little girl, watching _Alice_ _in_ _Wonderland_. Blech, she hated that movie. There was a smiley face with hollow black eyes and a bleeding red mouth under the words. The show girl put the card aside – why was the Joker leaving her presents? Freaky – and pulled the top off the box. One trembling hand reached in. For some reason she couldn't quite fathom, her eyes refused to remain open. Instead, they squeezed themselves shut. Her sight hid behind the colors of old blood and shadow. Emerald eyes flashed open when her hand curled around the slender, swan neck of a cool, glass bottle.

In the end, Rose ended up pulling out a bottle of sparkling cider, a little Styrofoam box with a piece of black raspberry cheesecake, a VHS cassette tape, two cardboard boxes the color of blood with a black ribbon (one large, one small), and an emerald green glass case. The bottle had a piece of masking tape across the label, with DRINK MEwritten in bold, black sharpie. The cheesecake box had EAT ME painted in what looked like bright, crimson nail polish. The tape's label read WATCH ME. And embossed on the top of the beautiful case of frosted green glass and scripted on the tags on the blood red box were the words OPEN ME.

"How far down the rabbit hole are you willing to go?" Rose muttered to herself, but she found her mouth trying to twitch into a smile.

In the three days she'd been in Hong Kong, part of her had actually missed the freak in the clown makeup. The skies had been strangely gray in Asia. Everything had been strangely muted and faded on her trip. She hadn't expected that. In China, everything was supposed to be bright and hustling and bustling, cheery and sparkling and gay. Not really. The cabaret girl had seen more Technicolor in a high school reproduction of Joseph's dream coat.

She hated to admit it, but the absinthe-eyed redhead's heart had begun to trip in her chest as soon as the cabin pressure in the plane had changed, telling her they were descending towards the Gotham City Airport. Three days away from her sisters was unheard of – Bruce was paying her triple salary while on the trip, because he knew how uncomfortable she was with the idea. Three days away from the Ace of Knaves... she'd missed him. He'd been in her life less than a full two days, and she'd missed him. It didn't make sense. But that hadn't stopped the little thrill in the pit of her stomach before she'd put her hand on the mural-style door to the apartment, or the plunge into disappointment when her exhausted empathy had told her no one remained in the apartment.

"Face it, girl," she muttered to herself, popping the cork off the cider bottle. "You've got it bad."

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"Well?" Bruce Wayne asked.

Lucius Fox stared across the sleek, black wood desk in the young playboy's office, holding his employer's dark gaze. Mr. Fox knew exactly what Wayne was asking. It wasn't just about the trip to China – it was about the company Lucius had kept while on that trip. It was all about Rosaline Damundo, show girl and secretary and mob informant. What was going on with Rose? What about the others, her sisters and Danni? Had she mentioned anything about the attack on the Queen of Swords? Why she was refusing to speak to police? Had the mob tried to move in on her? Lucius knew Bruce wanted all of that, but there was more. He wanted to know if the older man had seen the shadows in those green eyes, the rage, the pain. Was it worse? Was it darker? She trusted Lucius, liked him. He was one of the few men she did like and trust. But that didn't mean she'd confide in him.

"I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Wayne."

"How did she handle the separation?"

The dark skinned man shrugged. "Like a champ," he said. "She never called them – they ended up calling her. Just the once, though. Some crisis with Crystal. Not sure exactly what happened. I heard Rose mention someone named Sally. A man."

The businessman saw his young employer jerk to attention. Like a dog who's caught an intriguing noise, Lucius pricked up his ears and leaned forward. New information regarding the redheaded show girl was always a welcome thing.

"That would be Salvatore Moroni. Crystal whores for him on the side." Bruce's face twisted with revulsion and rage when he tasted the word "whore." He knew, and Lucius knew, that what Crys did for Moroni was nothing even close to consensual. Damaged, probably beyond repair, the blond show girl was a ticking time bomb. One day, the Italian mob boss would push his little pet too far, and she'd take him for all he was worth – spleen, kidneys, liver, and all. "She's one of Rachel's rats on the inside of the mob. What about Sadie and Dan?"

"Not a peep outta them. Danielle is fine, and Sadie is still keeping quiet."

"Lucius... what about Lao? What was his issue with her? Did he say anything to her, about her? Did you notice anything? Because I saw how he acted when he was in here for the business meeting, before I conked out. Rose refused to say anything about it afterwards, so I'm betting it was mob related. The question is, how bad? Will it be a problem?"

Fox nodded in thought as he pondered his boss's question. He understood where Bruce was coming from, and he knew what Bruce was talking about. The older man had seen Lao stagger out of the staff room holding his jaw and guarding his belly with one arm. Lucius had kept his presence a secret while the Chinese business man stumbled off. Then Rose had shuddered her way out of the room, trembling. Emerald makeup lay in ruins, smeared by tears. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders – a big no-no for her. A button was missing from her elegant, floral-print blouse. A purpling bruise flowered under one eye. She'd seen him, taken one look at his face and fled to her office. Never said a word, never made a complaint. Lucius knew why – Lao knew Rose because of her "other boss" – Gambol.

"Now that Lao's in jail," Fox finally said. "He won't be a problem. Gambol's other goons... I don't know. Some of them might even work here. We do background checks better than the IRS and the FBI combined, but even Wayne Enterprises misses things." He paused for a moment, uncertain whether he really wanted to ask this. Lucius looked at Bruce Wayne. He saw a man barely past his mid-twenties, good looking, hair styled carelessly, suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He saw dark eyes full of pain, rage, and grief. Saw a man who was determined to clean up a city decaying like rotten teeth. Across that desk was a man seething with fury because women he knew were in danger. He had to ask. "Is Batman going to be taking a special interest in the mob now, Mr. Wayne, do you think? For the sake of the Queen of Swords?"

"No." Bruce shook his head. "I can't play favorites, Lucius. This can't ever be about revenge, or I'm just a psycho in a bat mask. Not for Rachel, not for Gordon. Not even for Rose and the other Queens."

"Well," the gray-haired man replied, "if that'll be all, Mr. Wayne." He rose slowly to his feet, joints protesting. The older businessman fought to hid the wince of discomfort. The knowing look in Bruce's eyes told him that he'd failed miserably.

"Lucius... watch out for Rose, will ya? You know she's the main provider for her family. Danni, Sadie, and Crystal can't work outside of the Queen. They're too volatile. Rose can't afford to... to get to the point where she's too volatile, too. Take care of her, will you? Because I've got a lot of time and effort invested in her... and I can't afford to be there for her. Not the Damundos, Danni, and Rachel, and Gotham. I don't have that kind of time."

"I'll do my best, Mr. Wayne."

.

There were two boxes – a little box, and a big box. Inside the little box, Rose found a silver fork and five crystal wineglasses, each one engraved with a single, intricately carved letter – J, R, S, D, and C. The cabaret girl put four of the glasses away in the cupboard with the good china. The last, the one etched with her initial, she poured sparkling cider into. With a mechanical whirring sound, the VCR eagerly devoured the cassette tape. The silver fork pierced the creamy cheesecake and waited to deliver the first bite.

She opened the big box and found clothes. Each article bore a tag that said WEAR ME. Rose carried them into the bathroom and slipped them on. For the hell of it, she decided to add makeup.

The cabaret girl wiggled her toes inside the brand new, bone white tights. The silky scarlet spandex shorts hugged her hips and butt. Unlike her old pair, these sported no holes, and the waistband didn't pinch. She grabbed a folded piece of ebony fabric and slid easily into the soft Gauchos. The vermilion lace and silk camisole whispered over her flesh. The black tux shirt hugged her body like a shadow, ebbing and flowing like arterial blood. Gloves fit like a second skin. Her hands were bathed in crimson leather blood. A ruby choker gripped her pale throat. The diamond heart dangled against her clavicle. Her lips quirked in a blood red smile. Slightly parted, those Ravishing Rose painted lips bared even, white teeth like bleached bones. Shark teeth. Electric emerald silk powder, Neon Oz-Fest, swirled around her absinthian eyes, framed those death black lashes gelled into spikes.

And just for the hell of it, she sketched a heart in Slut Scarlet lip liner high on her cheekbone. She waltzed out of the bathroom, grinning like a mad corpse.

Sinking onto the couch, fork poised to proffer a bite of crimson spattered cheesecake, feet in their blood red, spike-heeled Mary-Jane shoes crossed at the ankles, she turned on the TV and played the tape.

Static sizzled. A monotone beeped. The countdown reel played.

A white painted face with gaping hollows of darkness for eyes appeared on the screen, grinning madly. Teeth gleamed acid tobacco yellow in the light. The tongue was red as fresh meat, flicking out over his lips. His scarred mouth bled savagely into his cheeks.

The Joker was wearing her black and scarlet top hat. The Ace of Hearts, bone white shard splashed with blood against black satin, gleamed in the overhead fluorescent lights.

"Well, helloooo, beautiful. And uh, happy un... _ah_... birthday to _you_." His giggle wheezed out of him, and she was reminded of an old, nearly worn out squeak toy. She realized suddenly that he was _tired._ Well, he would have been tired, if he'd been a man, and not a psychotic clown prince of crime running rampant through Gotham City's streets spreading supreme anarchy. And what was this about happy unbirthday? What was the Joker playing at? Allowing her lips to slide over the fork, the redhead curled her tongue around the bite of cheesecake and sucked it into her mouth as she watched the screen. The clown man, seated in a big, bright red armchair made out of what looked like leather, leaned forward. "I've, uh, got a... _surprise_ for you, Rosie-posie. A big, _big_ surprise. I just, ah, _love_ surprises. Don't you? _Luv-uh. Them-uh._"

The camera swung wildly, as if he were doing something with it, then the lens settled on his crotch. For a moment, a chill rolled up her spine like dead fingers. The Dark Passenger shivered. Rose clenched her teeth and ignored it. Three days. Three days without the Passenger making a peep. Three. She wanted to keep it that way. Watching still, the part-time secretary saw the psychotic clown man step back until she could see what his body had been hiding – her sisters and Danni and....

Gambol.

Tied to a chair, gagged, blindfolded, there was still no doubt about the bound and helpless mobster. Rose could taste it in her marrow. This was him. Blood stained the gag, dripped in a thin, jagged stream down his chin from the corner of his mouth. Behind him hung a meat hook, wicked and gleaming wet, and a large glass tank. Where had the clown man gotten a tank like that? And it wasn't full of water. The liquid inside was a noxious green color, like lime gelatin before it cools mixed with Elmer's glue. It was bubbling and steaming. She could practically taste the vile mixture on her tongue.

"This-_suh_, pretty girl, is something I'm not gonna, um, try out-_tuh_ until much, _much_ later. After we play-uh with the _Batmannnn_."

Against her will, Rose's belly tightened when the clown man rolled the R in "later," hummed on the N in "Batman." Goosebumps ran up and down her arms. Hastily, she took another bite of raspberry cheesecakey goodness and kept watching.

"What**-**_tuh_, what we have here is, um, a little party favor for... all the girls and boys back home. I call it-_tuh_... Smilex. Now, this delicious stuff isn't for sale, yet, Rose dear, but-_tuh_... for you, I'll make an exception."

And the painted man pulled off his lush, purple coat and handed it to Sadie. Rose had to admit, the three of them – Sadie, Crystal, and Danni – looked beautiful. Danni in white and black, Crystal in ivory, ebony, and a dark crimson tinged with purple high-lights, Sadie in black and gold-misted white. And around their necks were three necklaces that looked almost identical to the new choker nestled against Rose's throat – a red choker (or black, red-violet, or dark bronze, respectively) with a diamond playing card symbol. She knew, then, what the clown prince of crime had done to them all. They'd gone from being Aces – lonely, singular, isolated cards in the deck – to being Queens. But he wasn't their King. He was their Ace, their Jack... the Ace of Knaves.

He was trying to make that statement with the clothes. As soon as she figured that out, a huge Cheshire corpse grin stretched across her face. She tasted raspberries, blood, and lipstick. Her eyes sparkled. Hands shaking, she reached out and caressed the painted face on the television screen. She knew what he was going to do. Oh, yes, she knew. The whole time, as blood flowed, as acid based paint burned flesh, as the mob boss tried to scream around the crimson soaked gag, the red haired vaudeville girl grinned and devoured the creamy cheesecake until there was nothing but graham cracker crumbs left.

When they dumped Gambol into the vat of boiling chemicals – his dark face painted bone white and smeared crimson mouth gaping - and he began to scream, she laughed. She laughed, and laughed and laughed. Like a mad hyena, she shrieked with mirth. Giggles poured out of her throat until tears ran down her face. Ribs aching, still the laughter raged. Rose slid out of the chair, laughing hysterically. She thumped her fist against the plush carpet, giggling madly.

The apartment door opened. Four pairs of feet shuffled in. Writhing and flopping like a landed trout, the redhead rolled until she was looking up into eyes like viridian hell. Shredded, bleeding lips twisted into a rictus grin.

"Honey... I'm, uh... home. Ha, ha, ha."

.

.

.

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**Author's Note:** I don't own anything. I know it and you know, so we might as well just accept it and move on. And sorry for not updating in forevers. _Hellboy II: The Golden Army_ has thoroughly sucked in my attention and my passion. I finally got back into this story after... well, randomly, after washing out my cat's ears because he has ear mites and we can't give him medicine until we get the junk out of his ears first. All we can do is get a tissue soaked in warm, soapy water and squeeze the water into his ears to flush them out. We have to do that for like, a week or so. Obviously, he no like that. He shakes his head every two squeezes, so we end up with water and ear gunk on us (we = my roommate and me).

Also, the song lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from a song I wrote for my high school band. The song was called "Down the Rabbit Hole" (inspired both by _Alice in Wonderland _and _the Matrix_) and my band was called Psycho by Association. There's a whole story behind that, but it's not important. I figured that the lyrics fit the Alice in Wonderland theme of the chapter.


	31. 30 Blood in Winter

**Five Queens & a Joker**

**Chapter Thirty**

**Blood in Winter**

**or**

**Have Yourself a Very Joker Christmas Part 1**

.

.

Blood.

Stark scarlet slashes covered the walls, festooning them like brilliant burgundy blooms of blood that dripped and dribbled down the intricate murals covering the walls. The toxic neon lights burned the unblinking eyes that couldn't stop from taking in the room. Not a nerveless eyelash fluttered as the shriekingly shocking lights blinked on and off. The chaotic crimson burned brightly even in the distorting ambiance of the electric lights. An utter and unutterable stillness invaded the apartment, frightened, hesitant to break itself for fear of the insane clown prince who lounged on a cushy suede throne, feet propped up on a coffee table, taking in the scene. All around him, the chaos raged. He wasn't the creator, the instigator, but he could still sit back and bask in the silent symphony of anarchic motion.

"I don't think... no... we can't...." Rose's voice trailed off, snaring on the thorns of thunderous silence. Those razor sharp rose briars choked her words into silence as she looked around almost helplessly. A line of blood ran down her chin. She'd bitten her lip. Though there was a stirring of liquid silver pixie dust in the absinthe of her eyes - a danger signal to those who knew the redheaded vaudeville girl and the psychotic entity she kept caged in the depths of her brain – there was no uprising of the sable serpent sleeping in the deep darkness of her subconscious. Only a momentary welling up of frustration, quickly butchered.

Four pairs of eyes slashed to the clown lounging on the cushy chair.

Golden pixie eyes like glittering acid saw the way he fiddled with the potato peeler he'd stabbed Gambol with, tossing it up and catching it by the blade. Sadie did not like potato peelers. She'd been told over and over again that slicing the skins off of spuds was safer with a peeler than with a knife. In the fourteen years she'd been peeling potatoes with a steak knife, she'd never so much as nicked herself with the tip, even on the roughest, toughest tater. The first time she ever used a peeler, she'd gouged a chunk out of the base of her thumb – enough to make it bleed profusely. It annoyed her, the way the Joker-man would toss his peeler. Like he was afraid of getting cut or something.

Then the painted prince of clownish crime caught the rotating blade between his teeth, waggling his eyebrows, and the dark-haired vaudeville singer grinned, despite the urge to scream that had been trying to provoke her for the last hour.

Jagged knives of green glass gouged into the clown man's face as the auburn-haired cabaret chick in charge pinned the anarchist with her absinthian gaze. It didn't seem to phase the madman at all. Instead, he licked along the blade of the potato peeler. Rose thought she might have felt cleaner watching some humongous fat guy with mysterious stains on his wife-beater and a bad case of herpes in the act of sodomizing a dead kitten than when she saw the flickering tongue stroking lovingly over the razor sharp steel of the vegetable peeler. Then an eye like viridian hell caught her gaze, and the floor dropped out from under her feet. Tsunamis of gushing crimson rose up like a serpent ready to strike and kill. The Dark Passenger blinked into full wakefulness as the Devil Himself moved behind the Joker's eyes. Rose took a step back and touched one of the scarlet splashes on the wall. The velvet vermilion violence of it stabbed a shock through her spine.

_Go to him!_

_Busy right now, _Rose snarled. She tasted lipstick, and forced her lips to un-peel from her teeth and return to their proper position. Turning away from that hellion gaze that would've raped her via ocular organs if she'd let him, the dancing girl looked up at the brilliant blooms on the wall, her emerald eyes trying desperately not to crack at the sight.

"It won't work, Rose," Crystal called from approximately ten feet away.

The redhead turned in time to see a flick of nearly ice white hair tossed over one narrow, bruised shoulder as the blond woman examined the walls with her two sisters and their best friend. Rosaline blinked, trying to wrench herself back to reality. What wouldn't work?

"These Christmas lights," the blond psychopath added by way of explanation. "The red... I'm not feeling it. With the poinsettias, there's too much crimson. We need some white or something. Gold, maybe? Of course, then it would look like Santa Claus had a hand in decorating our place," Crystal muttered, violet eyes stabbing some of the brilliantly red flowers hanging on the walls.

"It's Christmas," Rose replied, shoving her hair out of her face. "It's supposed to look like Santa had a hand in it. But you know... we don't have enough time to finish these before midnight." The redhead glanced at the bone white face of their wall clock, saw that it was noon on Christmas Eve. "We have to be at work in two hours and you know what traffic is like on the twenty-fourth. It would almost be a good idea to let Crystal drive."

"Hey!" But the blond woman was grinning.

Suddenly, the silence, tight around the softness of their voices, exploded around the jingling of a cellular phone. All four of the cabaret chicks nearly jumped out of their skins. If they'd been anyone other than themselves, at least one of them might have shrieked. Instead, their green-eyed leader walked over to the Formica countertop and picked up her poison green cell.

"Yeah, boss?"

For a moment, the other two Damundo girls and Danni tensed up, but the smile stretching her ruby red lips and the cheerful tone of her voice told the three that Rose was talking to Bruce, not one of the mobsters. They instantly relaxed.

"Oh... um... yeah, we know the words. Sure, we can do that. It'll be tight, but I think we can manage. Yeah... uh-huh... sure. Be there in a bit. We will. Bye." One viridian fingernail hit the END button, and bright jade eyes fixed on the three girls by the decorated wall. The grin on Rose's blood red mouth yanked answering grins from her sisters and best friend. Allowing herself a single dramatic pause, the redhead informed them, "Guess what? Bruce wants us to choreograph two songs today, to be performed - you guessed it - today. One is _You Tore My Heart,_ and the other is _Jingle Bell Rock._ Think we can manage?"

Sadie nodded like a delighted child, her black hair bouncing around her face. Danni's smirk took on a sharp, sardonic edge, and the brunette murmured sarcastically, "Aw, gee, I dunno, Rose. Are you sure _You Tore My Heart_ is appropriate for the Christmas show? A tango type song about abuse and obsession? I'm not _feeling_ it. "

"Screw appropriate, I love that song!" Crystal informed them all waspishly. "Let's get our asses in gear. We've got makeup and stuff to put on after we choreograph, learn, practice, and shower. Come on!"

.

Winter.

It was everywhere, surrounding everything. The tiny flurries of snow swirled around him. Numbness burned through his lips. The icy air could only touch his chin, lips, and parts of his cheeks thanks to the bat mask covering his face. But the chill air, nearly ten degrees below zero, still bit at him with crystalline teeth barely warmer than deep space. Trying to ignore it, the Batman focused his eyes on the scene below him. The smile stretching his mouth had as much warmth as the winter day.

Usually the big, black Bat of Gotham City didn't venture out into the cesspool of crime during the day. But this was Christmas Eve, when people were a mere hair's breadth from snapping and annihilating their fellow men. And the winter storm that had shut down nearly half of the city turned midday to twilight. Criminals seemed to feel braver in the dark. Perhaps it was the common conception, bred into humanity from an earlier age, that monsters only came out at night.

Then again, it might have been only this: the Queen of Swords got most of their psychotic yo-yos around the major holidays. Christmas Eve was one of those major holidays.

So the Batman found himself perched on the roof of Saint Mary's Cathedral of Sorrows across the street from the Queen. He stationed himself between the iced over tiles on the roof and a stone gargoyle who seemed quite put out by the weather. The grotesque statue bared his tusks at the swirling snow. Or maybe it was the strains of "Bad to the Bone" wafting up from the open windows of the main auditorium that he objected to.

"_Now, when I walk the streets,_

_Kings and Queens step aside...._"

If it weren't for years of discipline, the man behind the bat mask might have found himself nodding his head and maybe even singing along to the words of the old rock song. It was one Rose played often in her little cubicle at Wayne Enterprises. But he had to focus. He needed to remain locked onto his mission: until it was time for Bruce Wayne, jet-setting trillionaire playboy of Gotham, to make an appearance at his second most successful business venture, the Dark Knight of Gotham City would keep watch over the dancing girls trudging their way across the slick ice and through the thick, death white snow towards the double doors of the front entrance of the Queen of Swords.

Why had he called it the Queen of Swords? The Batman couldn't remember. It had been on a whim, but what had prompted that whim, he couldn't remember at all. Something about eyes... eyes like acid, eyes like opium, like absinthe, like angel dust. Junkie eyes that weren't junk. Great, glimmering eyes... but the memory vanished before he could grab a hold of it.

He finally realized he hadn't been paying attention to the streets below in a long while when the flash of blood red strands of air blowing about on the wind caught his attention. Picking up his heated binoculars - a small gizmo inserted to keep the lenses defrosted - the vigilante looked through to catch a glimpse of crimson locks, hair so fair it nearly blended with the surrounding snow, feathered layers of hair darker than Snow White's might have been, and beside them, brown locks bouncing around narrow shoulders. Rose, Crystal, Sadie, and Danni. They had made it safely to the Queen. Excellent. They were the last of the night's show, unless someone was late.

_Unfortunately,_ Bruce thought, watching the quartet stride from the silver Toyota Corolla towards the doors, _I can't afford to wait for stragglers_.

With that thought, the Batman took off into the sky like a bat out of hell.

.

Blood.

It was all around her, within and without, about and around, over and under and through. It thrummed in her veins, pulsed in her wrists and at her temples, smeared across her lips and her eyelids, burned atop her fingernails. It seemed almost as if she were drowning in the thick, red stuff. As the hot spray of the shower beat her skin, still she felt the singing of crimson under her flesh. Her heart played the beat of the sanguine song.

Rachel opened her eyes to the stark, white walls of the shower, wet with spray and mist. Stringy, black shadows clinging to her head, plastered wetly to her face, she sat hunched in the ivory cubicle, wondering if she had the courage to attend the Christmas show.

"Don't you _want_ to see him?" Maggie asked.

The ADA glanced over at the woman she knew for a fact wasn't actually there. The ice blue eyes bit her like snake fangs. The pale mouth curved up into a grin as the brunette woman flinched from under the hallucination's gaze. That was the problem with Maggie. She wasn't just a hallucination - she was Rachel's other self. The young woman's closeness with the entity known as Jack Napier had only made Maggie's presence in Rachel's psyche all the more prevalent.

"Are you insane?" The lawyer demanded of her schizophrenic persona, realizing the futility of the question even before it passed her lips. Still, she pressed on. "He's trying to destroy the city. He's a psychotic killer-"

"So are you," her other half reminded her. Rachel pressed her lips firmly together and did her best to ignore Maggie.

The psychotic killer bit was not entirely true. She wasn't psychotic, and she hadn't been the one to kill her father. That had been Jack, all Jack. What child wouldn't run from a swinging fist and a swinging belt? And wasn't it simply natural that she run out the door? To run straight into the arms of the one person in all the world who understood that blood warmed her ice cold skin, that fire against her eyes made her feel alive? Because he had felt the same way. His hands, colder than ice, colder than death, were warm when blood made them wet and hot. His eyes burned with the fires that blazed all around them, burning, always burning....

Rachel wasn't sure if the moisture on her face was from her suddenly stinging eyes or the shower. But why would she be crying? It didn't make sense.

On her side of the pristine cubicle, Maggie wept into her hands, the strings of black hair dripping wet around her face in a sable curtain. Sometimes the ADA wondered if maybe she were the hallucination and Maggie the host form. Because it seemed as if Maggie was the only one who truly allowed herself to feel.

_I miss him,_ Rachel thought suddenly, and tears welled up and flowed like fresh blood. Inexplicably, she realized it was true. She missed Jack. With Bruce, she was Rachel, fresh and good and kind, a fighter against evil, a bringer of justice. She worked within the system to bring about the end of crime in Gotham. Warmth radiated from her soul. And with Harvey, she was pretty much the same, except he considered her a little more naïve. Bruce knew what she had dealt with in some aspects - her father's abuse, her mother's suicide and the consequent depression, the loneliness in law school thinking Bruce had died, and even the tiny war waged against the joint forces of Falcone, Scarecrow, and Ras al Ghul - but Harvey hadn't seen her in those days, before she'd started on the meds.

But Jack... there wasn't a need for medications that numbed her soul and made her heart ache around Jack. He understood what blood and fire were for. He knew about the allure of star bright steel, the shiny draw of a knife blade, the way blood over metal sang and smelled of new pennies and fireworks. Jack understood things she had never had to explain.

Bruce and Harvey would never understand the pull of the chaos.

"We'll go," she said softly, brushing her hair from her face along with the tears. "We can go to the show. Stop crying," the brunette added, watching Maggie with eyes that, though a deeper, darker blue, were colder than the ice blue of the hallucination's gaze. "Come on, before we turn into prunes."

We. The unquestioned, unquestionable we. With the return of Jack and the gifts that had begun to appear, Rachel had gone back into that old habit, the schizophrenic "we" of her middle school and high school days when she and Maggie had acted as a cohesive unit, aware of each other and working together to protect themselves and survive in the world that hated them both. Now she tried to bite back the tiny thrill that ran up her spine as she said, "We." The assistant district attorney didn't want to admit, even a little, that she was glad the meds that kept Maggie away weren't working.

Drying off with the dark burgundy towel embroidered with an elaborate, intertwined gold J and R at the corner, the dark eyed woman glanced the vanity mirror light up by bright, white lights... and the ticket to the midnight Christmas show at the Queen of Swords paper-clipped to the glass.

.

Winter.

The glittering sharp ice of it, the frigid burning cold of it, the shiver-inducing wetness of it, permeated even the thick, black pea coat Rose had swaddled herself in. Bone-white snow with its thin crust of ice crunched morbidly under her black boots. Goosebumps marred her skin, which paled with cold. The makeup-less lips, a delicate shade of lavender due to the sub-zero temperatures, pursed to protect her teeth from the blasting wind. Rose clenched her jaw to stop her chattering teeth from biting her lips.

Pushing open the double doors of the Queen of Swords, the redheaded vaudeville performer heaved a sigh of... relief? Why she would've felt relieved, she had no idea. But it was a sense of relief that suddenly plunged through her veins, melting away the ice that had taken up residence there.

Shaking the snowflakes that had invaded her bright auburn hair, she handed her coat to the doorman.

"Merry Christmas, Rose!"

The green-eyed dancer glanced over her shoulder to see one of the other girls, Candice, flouncing her jet black hair with one hand and grinning. Rose tried to smile back, but found it difficult. The redhead and the crow-haired woman shared something in common - they both had ties to the Mob, and they both worked at the Queen of Swords. Candice belonged to Rupert Thorne, enemy number two of District Attorney Harvey Dent, second only to Salvatore Maroni, the Mafia Don. And Rosaline belonged to Gambol.

_Well, _the redhead reminded herself,_ used to belong to Gambol. Thanks to the Joker...._

With this reminder of her freedom - and the painted clown prince of crime who would make his way here by dusk to see their show, though for what purpose, the oldest Damundo had no idea - the forced smile on her face turned into a much easier-to-manage grin.

"Merry Christmas, Candice!"

The sentiment was echoed by Crystal, who seemed in such a glorious mood that she could actually manage to be civil, and Danni. Everyone who worked at the Queen of Swords knew that Sadie Damundo rarely if ever spoke.

Glancing around the front lobby, the auburn-haired cabaret dancer grinned wider, feeling a sense of homecoming fill her from her ice-cold toes to the roots of her blood auburn hair. The Queen, festooned with white lights, green garlands, and ruby red ribbons the color of bright blood, reminded her of a child dressing up for its first Christmas Party. The festive air made the singer grin so hugely, she thought her face might crack. But the joy just seemed to bubble up inside her... until she saw who Alice was talking to.

Alice was another girl working as a performer at the Queen. A runaway who'd left an abusive foster home with both feet beating pavement to escape, Rose herself had brought the girl to Bruce's attention and gotten her the same setup as her own - a night job performing and a day job as a secretary and file clerk. Unlike the green-eyed woman, Alice had a didactic memory. Bruce had made her Lucius Fox's personal secretary because of this remarkable quirk, which gave her great pay and a lot of off time. But now, Rose caught the petite blond woman glancing around wildly as if for help, having been cornered by a blond man in a royal blue tuxedo.

Liquid copper sharpness exploded in Rose's mouth, flooding her senses. Blood slowed through her veins, boiling hot and sluggish, and a sharp pain lanced behind her eyes. Red flashed across her vision as violence throbbed through her. Teeth sank into her lip. Real blood hit her tongue this time. The urge to utterly decimate whoever was making Alice look that way screamed through the redhead, choking her. Pulse pounding, breathing whistling through her clenched teeth, fists clenched in her dark green gloves so that her nails were beginning to cut through the fabric, Rose took a step forward.

Danni grabbed her arm. The green-eyed murderess whirled on her, but the brunette only looked her right in the eyes and shook her head slowly. Rose knew what she was trying to say: _no violence. Not here, in their sanctuary. Not when everyone could see them. No violence._ Rose knew it, and even understood it, but it took all of her self control to bring herself back from the edge of committing murder in public.

_Diamond!_

The violent mental shout brought the ever-aware Crystal to instant alertness. Violet eyes like jagged glass locked with emerald ones. There was a barely perceptible nod in Alice's direction. Without even a second's hesitation, the blond woman strode over to the smaller girl and the man in the blue tuxedo.

Rose tried to see what Crystal was about to do, but in that second, dark-haired, red-lipped, Mob-screwing Candice walked in front of her and started talking. Irritation pulsed through the redhead. She really didn't like Candice. Nope, not at all. The reason was simple: whereas Rose and the others had been forced to whore for the Mob, Candice did it willingly. Not only was she boinking the almost sixty-year-old, nearly three-hundred-pound, white-haired Rupert Thorne every minute of her off-time, but she let him pimp her out to other mobsters, and even senators and other politicians, and even some cops. With a flash of fury, Rosaline thought of that scum-sucking detective working for Gordon, the old man who drank too much and gambled too much and owed too much to Maroni for anyone's good. Candice had told Rose that guy was easy - five minutes or less of the beast with two backs and then he was out like a light for the rest of the night.

The redheaded vaudeville girl shuddered with disgust at the idea.

"So, then, I was like - "

"Shut up and get lost, Canned-Ass," Danni interrupted rudely, making a vulgar pun of the dark-haired dancer's name. The brunette stalked up to her, the epitome of disgust and fury, and shoved her bodily out of the way in time for Rose to see Crystal drag the guy outside. All three remaining women moved to run after her before she came back wearing his guts for garters, but the blond strode back in, whistling cheerily. The redhead glanced at Danni and Sadie, who shrugged. The amber-eyed pixie mouthed, "Christmas?"

Crystal practically sashayed on over to them and said, "Let's go, we got rehearsal. Everyone ready for _You Tore My Heart_?"

The three women grinned and walked to their dressing rooms to change. Candice, black-eyed and black hearted, watched them all strut off with venom in her eyes and hatred pouring out of her every pore.

The three Damundos and Danni ignored her.

.

Blood.

It was everywhere. It pooled on the carpet, splashed the walls, bled from every surface in the dressing room. The corpse on the floor, pale as ashes, stared at the crimson drenched ceiling with shocked, glassy eyes. What had it seen in its final moments? What had those eyes witnessed just before the spark of life had been snuffed? The painted man standing over the lifeless, bloodless body smiled warmly at the sight. This naked corpse needed to go. With a snap of his fingers, a couple goons lifted the dead thing and took off with it. Anyone else would have wondered how the lackeys were going to hide such an obvious kill. But the clown prince of crime didn't care about that. He only cared about his plans for Christmas Eve.

Most of this night would be dedicated to waiting. He had no plans that didn't become much more diverting with the inclusion of the dancing girls with their numerous pet psychosis. With the incorporation of the blond butcheress, the redheaded ravager, the pixie-faced murderer, and the angel-eyed anarchist, everything would be so much better. The chaos swirling like a whirlpool around those women made the Chelsea grin stretch maniacally wide.

He wanted to see it, the psychotic and dangerous dance the four of them threw themselves into each and every night they came to this club. There was blood and butchery, madness and mayhem. The clown prince of crime wanted to be a part of that chaos. After all, it was only fair. Gotham City belonged to him, the master of mountebanks. If they wanted to set this place on fire, even figuratively, he got to help pour the gasoline and light the matches.

And in the blazing aftermath, there would be blood. His hands were icy inside the purple leather of his gloves. Blood would warm them, bring them to life. And maybe... maybe, in an island of ice in the scarlet streams of anarchy and blood, he would find Maggie again. Ice-eyed, cold-hearted, relentless killer Maggie... and Rachel, who knew what it was like to really be _cut._

The idea made him chuckle. Still chuckling, he began washing the war paint from his face and forced himself to remember exactly what those little girls had been playing at all afternoon - the slashing movements, the vicious spins, the agonized expressions on their faces, the song biting its way out of their throats even as they lay on their backs, legs spread, open for the pressing and oppressive heat of the men above them.

Tore their hearts, indeed.

This would be hysterical.

.

Blood.

It covered her hands, her legs, her mouth, and even her eyes. Her face and her body were a bruise against the night, a flash of pain, a shadow of hurt. Blood and bruises and razors glittered under the lights framing her mirror. She smiled, showing sharp white teeth.

When she glanced at the mirror, her lips bled dark blood, glistening liquid wetness across that mouth that would sing and scream and sigh tonight. The pale skin around her eyes shimmered with silken powder the color of old bruises - burgundy, violet, and maroon all swirled together in a violent storm of rainbow pain. The lashes framing the electric purple eyes - eyes like opium, eyes like poppies, eyes like razor sharp crystal pain - stabbed the air, butterfly wings twisted together out of black razor wire. Blood painted her cheeks, a swirl of ruby powder to prove that, even though she might be a cold corpse, she still had some life in her body still.

_Enough, _she thought,_ that I can still spill some blood._

Crystal Damundo glanced down at herself as she sank gracefully onto the orchidaceous suede vanity stool.

Red leather and scarlet silk molded to her body, beautiful and tight but supple enough to let her move. These clothes would only be worn once, and so the oil used to make her body - and the leather - gleam under the light was not a big deal. Crimson scraps of material clung to her shoulders, impromptu sleeves sewn onto the outfit to satisfy what little modesty she laid claim to. The crimson bustier hugged her knife thin torso, the bottom edge brushing the razor-sharp hipbones jutting out against her paper thin skin. The cups, trimmed in white, fake fur that wrapped all the way round to the back, scooped up her breasts, lifting and separating, accentuating what little she had to work with.

A feral grin twisted her bloody mouth at the thought of the men drooling in the audience. If only one of them would try something after the show, she would have an excuse to put her knife somewhere hot... somewhere wet... somewhere fatal.

She ran her hands over her hipbones and down, over the red leather miniskirt hugging her butt. Miniskirt? The blond vaudeville scoffed at the idea. This was barely even a belt. But the leggings beneath it made up for its skimpiness. Tight, cream colored nylon embraced the muscular thighs and calves, ending two inches above her ankle. But no one would see the pale skin tonight, not beneath the knee high, scarlet boots she wore. They matched the vermilion gloves that fit snugly from fingertip to elbow.

The blonde grinned and set to curling her hair and spraying it with ice shimmer.

A knock sounded at the door to her dressing room. Without conscious thought, she flung her mind out to encompass the people at her door. Grinning, she called back, "Come in."

Rose entered first, dressed in the same ruby red ensemble as her younger sister. Her hair had been dyed - lightened a bit with blond and brown highlights. But everything else was the same - crimson bustier, belt posing as a miniskirt, white leggings, white fur trim, the knee boots. The lipstick color - known only as Fresh Blood by Slippery When Wet - smeared her lips. Her skin glowed with life from the blush on her cheeks. Bruise-like eye powder framed her absinthe gaze.

Sadie and Danni came second, their white leather and black trimmings in sharp contrast to the other woman. Though the makeup was darker - Slippery When Wet's Blood Wine Bride lipstick and accompanying blusher and eye shadow - the effect was the same. All four looked good enough to eat, and psychotic enough to kill.

"We ready?" Danni asked, flipping a stray curl over her shoulder. The white top hat in her hand belonged on her head, but she didn't want a stray gust of air to blow it off and mess up the freshly done curls. Rose handed Crystal her red top hat with the white sash. Sadie's white hat was already sitting on the black sausage curls framing her pixie face. Rose carried her own red hat in her other hand.

"Almost," Crystal replied, twisting the scalding curling iron in her now silvery blond hair. "Gimme a minute." A tiny wisp of smoke wafted up from the hair tool. The blonde ignored it, focusing on her icy reflection in the mirror.

"Oh!" Sadie cried suddenly, mouth forming a perfect O.

All three women turned to stare at her. An exclamation from Sadie was like someone else screaming "fire!" in a crowded movie theatre. With a snap of her fingers, Sadie dove into her black shoulder bag and pulled out a blue velvet box tied with a red, green, and purple striped bow. A gold J hung from a piece of the ribbon. The sable haired dancer popped the lid off and handed each woman one of the playing card symbol chokers the Joker had given them - or rather, commanded them to wear at knife point. As if they needed any kind of inducement to wear the glittering, diamond pendants. The chokers had been remade from their original color-coded neck bands with simple red or black ribbons.

"He's out there," Danni said, leaning against the door, facing where she knew the stage was, even though she couldn't see it through the walls of the Queen. Blue eyes flickered with a dusting of dull silver - angel dust like stars against the twilight. Full lips stained darker than arterial blood quirked into a shiver-inducing sliver of a smile. "They both are."

"Why would he come again?" Crystal demanded, finishing the final twist to her curls. She popped the crimson top hat on her head and struck a pose, admiring the effect. Red wasn't exactly her color, but it looked hot enough that she liked the effect. Besides, red was one of the colors of Christmas, and she loved Christmas! Absently, she wondered if she would get a homicidal rapist in her stocking this year. Lots of gory fun for everyone. The thought made her bloody mouth stretch wide in a maniacal grin. Somewhere deep inside her, the Good Child whimpered. She ignored it. "I mean... does he even do Christmas? Usually that's a normal person thing."

Rose scoffed and donned her necklace and hat.

"Normal person thing? Christmas is our favorite holiday, and we are hardly normal, dear. I think...." At this, the redhead's voice trailed away into smoke, and her eyes grew far away, twin mirrors of jade glass. "I think," she went on, but it was as if she were speaking to herself. "I think he's meeting someone here. Or testing us. He wants to see us all together, us four and this other person. I think."

"Who?" The blond cabaret dancer demanded. Her voice was capable of freezing marrow. Jealousy, sharp and hot and irritating, slashed her midsection. The violet-eyed singer had to force herself not to double over with the feeling.

"I don't know," her older sister replied. "Now come on. It's curtain call."

As the four dancers left the dressing room and joined up with their partners in the hall, Rose shivered. Ice water spilled down her spine in a frigid wash, leaving her cold as death. With an almost trembling gaze, the red-haired vaudeville girl glanced up at her partner, who kept her hand tucked firmly inside the crook of his elbow.

It wasn't Nicholas.

For some bizarre reason, this startling thought - and the eyes like sloe-stained viridian hell piercing right into her heart - made Rose grin. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that her partner was dead, most likely at the hands of this madman. Somehow, the green-eyed singer couldn't find it in herself anywhere to care about his fate. Nicholas DuBois hadn't been the gentlest of partners.

"You tear my heart," she whispered, and the painted clown prince of crime grinned back at her.

.

.

.

.

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**Author's Note:** So I ended it here because of two things. One, this chapter has, for some reason I've yet to figure out, taken me forever and ever to punch out. Hence why the Christmas three-part chapter hasn't come out until a couple days before Valentine's Day. And as I write this, I don't know if I'll be able to get the other parts of the three-part out before this Friday (when I have internet at the library). So, that's one reason. Reason number two - this is a three parter at least because of what all is going to happen this Christmas Eve. After all, I'm at almost 6,000 words and the show hasn't even happened yet, much less what's going to happen to all the girls this year. So yeah. I'm ending part one here.

And yes, I intend to do a Valentine's Day chapter too. Lemme see... the still-beating hearts of puppies? I don't know. Whether the Joker actually participates in any of the holiday stuff remains to be seen. And because of something I have in mind involving Coleman Reese, there will be a Saint Patrick's Day chapter. What involving Reese? You'll see.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and Merry (Really Belated) Christmas, Julie!

Oh, and _You Tore My Heart_ is by... I don't remember. But if you want to see some resemblance to what's going to be in the next chapter with the dance, go to YouTube, and look up Elena and Jacob (I think those are their names) who were on _So You Think You Can Dance_ for the song _You Tore My Heart_. That dance is freaking... wow. It helped to inspire this chapter.

Happy Christmas part 1, Julie! Sorry I'm late. Oh, and did you loan Megan your "You Speak Craziness!" Invader Zim t-shirt? Cuz she has one that she says you gave her and Karl's is missing. Yeah. Bye.


	32. 31 Symphony in Six Parts

**Five Queens and a Joker**

**Chapter Thirty-One**

**Symphony in Six Parts**

**or**

**Have Yourself a Very Joker Christmas, part 2**

.

.

**Part one:** _a minuet in R, with an M minor chord, full of lust and longing, a pair of tattered burgundy hearts broken into shattered bits of bloodstained porcelain. Strings of sloe black and chestnut brown hair play the antiphonal strain of madness on a violin of human bone. Tension and need and loneliness swirl like a fairytale through the darkness, dragging a woman and her insanity together again. See the hunted animal trying to evade its desires by hiding in the predacious dark with the schizophrenia-induced monsters...._

Burgundy silk, rippling satin blood, liquid velvet rubies; in other words, the new dress Rachel had found laid out on her bed, with the words, _What does it take to make your mind bleed?_

The dress clung to her skin like a sheath of old, arterial blood. It dipped dangerously between her breasts, slid silently over her belly, caressed its way down her thighs and calves like a lover's fingers. The silk dress held her body tight, but its soft touch was as gentle as a warm breath. When she'd slipped into the dress, it had been like slipping into a bath full of burgundy wine, bubbling and fizzing and dangerous in its sweetness. Diamond ice tickled against the warm skin of her throat, right over her fluttering pulse. Her bones felt like glass every time the silk or the diamonds touched her. Somehow, wearing the new dress felt as sinful as sex, and twice as dirty.

"He knew you'd be like this," Maggie's cool voice breathed against her neck, heady as alcohol, and Rachel shivered and settled lower in her theatre seat. Being the - anonymous - co-owner of the Queen of Swords gave her several privileges, including her own, private seat high above the seething crowd of excited onlookers. The ADA and her invisible other half had the box to themselves. Hiding behind the burgundy velvet curtains, curled up like a cat in her seat, was exactly how Rachel wanted to spend the show. "He knew it, and I knew it," Maggie said.

"Like what?" Rachel asked a little breathlessly. She knew exactly like what. Her entire body felt electrified, and so did the outfit, all the way down to the wine-red satin panties touching against her skin. Still, she continued to feign ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You act like he's here, watching you do something dirty. Have you been sodomizing puppies while my back's turned, Rachel? Is that why you're so nervous?" Maggie teased, dancing her feather-light fingers up and down the side of her counterpart's neck. The brunette tensed as the ice-eyed woman's fingers walked themselves over her clavicle and down to rest, kneading, at the uppermost swell of Rachel's breast. Her insanity breathed in her ear, breath moist and warm, "Or are you remembering how he used to touch us?"

"Get the hell away from me, Maggie," Rachel snapped, and she jerked away from the cool hands pressing against her skin. "That's... don't even go there."

"I was just asking," Maggie snapped back.

A chill rolled up the brunette woman's spine. When was the last time her other half had truly taken a snap at her? And when had she, Rachel, ever used profanity against Maggie? What was going on here? Suddenly, dread slithered into the ADA's belly and refused to leave. Instead, the imposing fear began to expand, numbing her insides, painting frost claws on her heart. Rachel shivered.

"What is it?" Maggie asked, voice suddenly as gentle as spring. There was something heady and alcoholic about listening to Maggie speak. The black-haired creature that didn't truly exist came and knelt beside Rachel, sliding a concerned hand up her lean, stocking-clad calf to the delicate inside of her knee. Blue eyes like darkness touched on eyes like ice, and the fear screamed out of Rachel's gaze. "He's here. Nothing can hurt us," Maggie whispered gently. "Don't be afraid."

"There's something here," Rachel whispered desperately, trying to understand what her instincts were screaming at her. Something out in the crowd had her hackles up and yet Maggie couldn't sense it. And it wasn't Jack....

"Who is that child?" Maggie suddenly snarled like a demon, eyes slashing away from Rachel so sharply she felt as if she were oozing burgundy blood. The ice-eyed demoness lunged to her high-heeled feet and stalked towards the balcony. Glassy ocular blades raked over the crowd below them. Gasping, Rachel staggered to her feet as well, desperately trying to avoid breaking an ankle, and struggled to Maggie's side. The crimson rage pouring off of her other half made Rachel choke, but then the flash below stabbed her in the belly and both women gasped.

Terror slid its ice cold fingers around two hearts beating in tandem. Frost crept from the fingers into the ventricles and atriums of their coronary organs, chilling them both. Numbness spread from their fingertips up to their palms. Tenebrous cold dripped down their spines. The fear ripped and clawed at them, but they could not run, could not hide, could not even look away from the child below them bouncing in her seat, anxious for the show to begin.

"What is that?" The alcoholic tinge to Maggie's voice made Rachel's nerves buzz unhappily. But the hatred filled the ADA's belly with jagged glass shards.

"I don't know, but it's dangerous... isn't it?"

"Yes," the ice-eyed hallucination growled through clenched teeth. The overhead lights glanced off of the gleaming fangs, glinted like daggers in the death-cold eyes focused on a human no older than fourteen. In the depths of those eyes, twin flames like two droplets of burgundy blood rippled and danced, intent on their prey. Goosebumps ripped through Rachel's skin, but the hate in Maggie was already spreading across the distance between them and infecting her.

"Are you sure? She's just a kid. Is she really dangerous?" Rachel didn't want to believe it.

"Yes, she is."

.

_**Interlude:**__ see the big black Bat, a monster of hidden cruelties and obvious weakness, as he mingles with unseen evils that he professes to loathe and shun...._

"Oh, Dr. Nigma, how nice to see you here," Bruce exclaimed jovially, forcing a broad, warm smile to stretch across his lips. He clasped the thin hand in its hunter green, leather glove and shook it heartily. His cheeks felt like they might crack if he kept it up. "Are you here for the Christmas Eve show? Or do you know one of our performers?"

"I've heard a lot about the Queen of Swords from other Wayne Enterprises employees and thought I might check it out. Is it true Rosaline Damundo, your executive assistant, has a second job here?" Edward Nigma asked, tilting his head slightly to the side and adjusting his black-framed spectacles.

"Yes, Rose is one of the soloists for tonight's show. You're in for a real treat. Even though it's Christmas Eve, we only have two or three holiday songs in the concert. Everything else is... well, pretty unique. It was nice talking to you, Doctor.

"Doctor Isley, so nice to see you. I trust your recovery went well?"

Bruce lost himself in the empty courtesies of being rich and being among the rich, waiting for the lights to flicker, the signal for everyone to take their seats or be escorted out. Truthfully, he'd rather have been perched on the roof, geared up as Batman, waiting for someone to do something felonious. Instead, he walked past Edward Nigma in his midnight green tux and black glasses, past super-model gorgeous Pamela Isley with her flowing auburn hair and eyes like ivy leaves; he ignored Rupert Thorne and Salvatore Maroni, but only by gnawing on his tongue. It was only to be expected, with Candice and Crystal working at the Queen. The Chechen would surely be somewhere as well, eyes open for Sadie.

When the lights did their flickering gig, he squirmed his way through the crowd towards the passage to his private box. He excused himself when he bumped into a blond girl, maybe fourteen, and then nearly ran into Lucius Fox.

"Lucius?"

"I thought I'd stop by and watch the show. Rose was... pretty excited about the Christmas Eve performance, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce nodded slowly, accepting both Lucius' explanation and the admonition hidden underneath - if duties called and Batman had to make an appearance in Gotham City tonight, then he needed to be back before the end of the show, when Bruce Wayne's job became thanking personally the soloists and the audience in general. Rose - and the other girls - would miss his absence. He'd missed some shows before, leaving it up to Alfred to do the thanking, and Bruce had known the dancers had all been a little hurt.

Hoping nothing came up, he slipped into his box and took his seat as the lights went down, and the curtains of the stage rustled anxiously.

.

_**Part two:**__ the crimson jazz concerto, with its brass and woodwinds, with the screams of a crowd simply dying to see how the show will go on... for the show must go on. Never mind that our lovely little lady-maestro is only the puppet of a psychotic madman, a sociopathic anarchist with a penchant for lead and gunpowder and gasoline. See the fairy of absinthe orchestrating her concerto, readying her musicians before the blood red curtain rises for the first time tonight...._

"So, we're clear on the lifts, right?" The auburn haired vaudeville dancer demanded of the ten girls surrounding her. In the dim light of backstage, they all looked like a strange cross-breeding of Playboy Bunnies, Mrs. Claus, and the Mad Hatter. Rose couldn't help noticing that the blondes outnumbered everyone else - Alice, Crystal, Grace, Selena, and Cambria were all blond, their golden hair iced out to match the white of their costumes and the pale yellow Christmas lights they knew were festooning the stage. Danni and Kestrel's brown hair had been highlighted with fiery reds and rich auburns, and Duela and Rose had had the opposite, brown and blond streaks to bring the blazing garnet of their hair closer to the others. Candice had hair that was such a dark brown it was nearly black, but under the lights it looked pretty brown. Sadie, the only one with that stunning blue-black hair that was nearly purple, stood out, which was why Bruce had picked her to sing the words to _You Tore My Heart_.

"Right," the performers answered.

"Dead spider poses on the word 'stuck,' remember that," she went on to remind them, running through the last rehearsal a couple hours earlier. Had there been any other goof-ups or anything else that needed her attention? She resisted the urge to rub her temples. She didn't want to smear her makeup. "Prop kids, do not mix those props up or I'll pickle you in acid," the redhead added, eying the young girls and the rare boy whose job it was to make sure everything was set up properly during the times when the curtain came down in between acts. Then Rose turned her attention to the individual dancers in front of her.

"Alice, you've got lipstick on your teeth," Rose said, and the blond girl carefully licked it away. "Duela, where's your hat? You're not going on my stage without a hat." Rose watched as the aforementioned Duela rushed off to one of the prop-kids, who found her a white top-hat. Duela scrambled back to her spot.

"Cambria, stop fidgeting with your corset before you pop out of it. Here, come here, let me do it," she ordered, and the young dancer obeyed. In a few minutes, the leather was situated perfectly. Rose sent the blond performer back to her place and sighed. Why did they have to do this show in oiled leather? Who's genius idea was that? Couldn't they buy pleather or vinyl or something instead of leather if they wanted the performers to be shiny?

"Selena, got your shoes on?" Rose asked. "Good. Okay, everyone line up: Selena, Candice, Danni, Crystal, Kestrel, and me, then Sadie, Grace, Duela, Cambria and Alice. Okay, let's see... white, red, Danni is white, Crystal is red... white, then I'm red... Sadie is white, red, white, Cambria's red, and Kestrel is white. Good. All right? All right. Guys, get with your girls. Okay, be ready. As soon as Alfred finishes his speech, we're on."

They lined up behind the lowered, crimson velvet curtain, waiting for their cue. Alfred's soft, British voice filtered back through the heavy fabric, soothing their nerves. None of them were new at this, but each one could count the number of butterflies flapping around in their bellies.

"_Using several popular songs from recent years," _Alfred's cultured voice drifted back to them all, _"we have written a tale of four women who, on Christmas Eve, have tried to summon the Christmas Spirit. What they actually manage to bring forth, on the other hand, is something much different... and far more erotic and deadly._"

"You do this every night?"

Her partner's voice rumbled in her ear, and she sucked in a breath. In the chaos backstage, she'd almost forgotten that her partner was not the chauvinistic, date-rape-inclined Nicholas duBois, but the painted clown prince of crime. Only the dim lighting of the area backstage had hidden this fact from everyone, but Rose had told them all anyway that Nicholas had come to her and begged off, citing a stomachache. Focusing on the Joker's question, she nodded.

"Almost," she whispered.

"And you still claim you're not a freak," he informed her, chuckling a little.

She only shrugged, and he went quiet. Rose didn't dare turn around and look at him to see his reaction. A part of her longed to answer his claim - that she was a freak - but it was almost time to go out. She had to make sure that she had full lungs and a high head or she'd go crazy. Silently, the dancer ran through her mental checklist of all the things she was supposed to do before she curtain went up. Gloves, shoes, necklace, lipstick, blush, eye makeup, foundation, hydrated, went to the bathroom, ran through the routines with the Joker to make sure he had them... was there anything else?

_Relax,_ Crystal's cool voice chimed in her head, wind against broken glass. _You didn't forget everything. Don't worry. Let's go out there and kick their asses._

_Yeah,_ Rose thought back. _Yeah._

And then the people were cheering and clapping beyond the veil of burgundy velvet curtains, and the music began, a creeping, almost cartoony melody with woodwinds, strings, and eerie percussion. As the curtain went up, the twenty-two dancers slithered like demonic serpents to their respective chairs as the lead man - Rose's own partner - did a running slide to the front, to the standing microphone. Deep in her chest, the absinthe-eyed singer's heart palpitated, writhing as if in orgasm behind her breastbone. Her eyes followed the man in the black show-tux and blood red bow tie and cummerbund even as she bounced her hips against the back of her chair in time to the music.

"_Why'd you run away?_" The master of mountebanks demanded in a jazzy, singsong voice. Rose understood that this wasn't what he wanted. She'd known it at the beginning. But there was something he wanted a lot - to do _You Tore My Heart_ with Rose, or with Sadie, or one of the girls, and in order to get that far, he'd have to suffer through these other pieces. There were some that thrilled him, but not this one. "_Don't you like my_," he asked softly, then snapped his tap shoes sharply on the floor with antiphonal _click-clacks_ and growled, "_**Style**_?"

Without even thinking about it, Rose shoved off of her chair and spun on her toes straight into the Joker's arms. Steel bands closed around her like a trap and her blood spiked in her veins, turning to scorching ice in her body. The music thrummed through her, beat a staccato rhythm inside her skull. Her ears didn't even take in the words the painted madman holding her to him was singing to the crowd. All she knew was the lights and the beat, the hands and the heat. Bright golden lights tried to scald her skin, but she was invulnerable and immortal behind the layers of silky pollen powder and blood red lipstick, bruising eye shadow and glistening leather corset. Bass and strings tried to jazz up her legs, but she jazzed right along with it. The hands on her waist burned molten hot even through her costume.

_Isn't this fun?_

Deep inside her brain, the Dark Passenger purred like a demented cat and rubbed sleek, sable fur against the contours of Rose's skull. Madness bubbled up in the chambers of her heart. Electricity sizzled along her skin, arcing between the red-haired vaudeville dancer and the master of mountebanks.

_"Why don't you come and play?" _

The Joker's sepulchral voice danced and caressed over her bare arms, dipped between her breasts and inside her corset, slithered inside her gloves and through her brain. Shudders raced up and down her spine as the metal toes of her tap shoes clicked and pinged on the stage. She flung out her hand, slathered with bloody leather, as if to ward off his advances. Play? Was there seriousness behind the sung words coming out of those twisted, scarred lips?

Her fingertips tingled, and her brain buzzed as if with alcohol. Her heart hammered against her sternum. Green eyes glinted with absinthe-shine and her bones turned to broken bits of glass inside her paper-thin skin. Could he see through her? Did he see what she was doing, what he was doing?

_Fun?_ Rose demanded of the Passenger, which chuckled with its ancient, eldritch voice inside the pieces of her skull. In the back of her mind, the cabaret girl heard the crashing of sanguine waves on a deep, subconscious, Plutonian shore made for madness and murder. The creature in her deepest thoughts hissed and writhed, enjoying the caresses of the song against its brain and in its blood. _This isn't fun._

_Erotic fun?_ The Dark thing whispered lecherously.

_It's magic, you twit,_ Rose snarled at it, and found herself flush to the Joker's black and red tux. She arched her neck to see his face, his hellion eyes blazing down at her.

_"I guarantee a great big smile!"_

Against her sternum, a heart of lead and gunpowder and death hammered her. A heady, thrashing pulse rippled from behind her chest and down, slipping into her belly and between her thighs in their white leggings. Heat raced up her spine. Hell kissed her from behind eyes like viridian hell, and the dancer almost fainted. Mentally shaking herself, she tried to focus on something other than the emerald flames dancing in the painted clown man's gaze. Her flesh itched and rippled, trying to crawl off of her body, but before it could, he spun her away so she could do her own little piece - ten seconds of metal striking polished wood before she went back to her chair and bounced, and it was Sadie's turn.

Sadie, the sable-haired pixie-faced demoness, the little Snow White queen, who could tempt men to hell and then rip out their hearts....

.

_**Part three:**__ oh, but the symphony begins in earnest now, a serenade of violence and violation, screams and sex, midnight madness and murder and mayhem, even if it's only hinted at behind the civilized veneer covering the mad, mad puppeteer and his four queens. Or is it five? Or perhaps... six? In the swirling vortex of music and passion, anything is possible. See the silent shadow with acid eyes entering the mating dance with the mad maestro...._

_"Why don't we dance a while!"_

Sliding forward on her right foot, slim Sadie glided right into the Joker's waiting arms. Immediately, her heart jumped and cracked her ribs. Pain rocketed up her torso, flames of feeling rushing under her skin, licking at her nerves. Was it really pain? Or expectation? She couldn't breathe, but she didn't need to when her eyes like burning acid met with blazing chaos inside the painted man's gaze.

His scorching hands bit her with invisible teeth as he twisted her narrow waist this way and that, forcing her, his fingers digging into her body. Bruises, thick and dark and bleeding beneath the flesh, blossomed under his touch, kissing her nerves and bones with pain. Sadie snapped her head to the left, to the right, feeling the glass of her bones just waiting to snap. Fire raced along her spine at the thought. And trapped within the almost crushing grip of the clown prince of crime, heat coiled in her belly, behind her breast, under her tongue, at the base of her spine.

"_I'm the hottest thing, I'm the... twist and shout,_" the psychopathic clown growled in his fake, jazzy voice.

He spun Sadie around her on the toe of her tap shoe. The world whizzed by, and she didn't care. All she could focus on was the pale, sculpted face of her dance partner and the hellion eyes biting into her soul, dredging up a thousand cries from the Whisperers in her head. The heat of the lights made sweat pop up on her forehead, but the matte powder and the foundation caught it and refused to let it ruin how she looked on the stage.

She could feel it. She could feel the stares, the longing, the amazement of the crowd as the clown prince of crime hoisted her up and her white-clad legs wrapped around his trim waist. The jagged knife bones of his hips dug into the soft inner thighs. His zipper bit between her legs and her spine arched.

Sadie didn't stop to think as the madman twisted her around and slammed her back onto the stage floor again. She went right into her solo, spinning and whirling like a tambourine dancer around the clown. Her hair spun out in its tenebrous curls and she tossed her top hat. Her entire body spiraled outward, and acid raced through her veins. Silver and white and crimson sparked in the acid gold eyes. Pain rocketed through her limbs and she sucked in a heavy breath, reveling in the sensations sliding over and under her burning hot flesh.

The crowd oohed at her.

A hand in a red leather glove reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her, spiraling, into the trap of the Joker's arms. His hand curled around her slender throat. Her hand reached out and caught the top hat, jamming it back on her head. Her butterfly pulse beat frantically against the shackle of his almost bruising grip. Air tried to ram down her throat past his hold on her, and some managed, but only a little. Dimness crept in on the edge of Sadie's vision. Pressed against the harsh planes and angles of the mad creature holding her captive, her soft flesh tried to split open, tried to bleed crimson life... for him.

_"When ya gotta sing, when ya gotta...."_

Sadie's slim shoulders wrenched away from him, followed by the rest of the pixie-formed dancing girl, and she spun out into the empty side of the stage. Her blood pumping hard, a staccato rhythm slamming between her thighs and behind her heart, heat and awareness drumming through her sweat- and oil-slick skin, she struck a pose on a chair manned from behind: her foot slamming down with enough force to shatter bone on the seat, one arm out in supplication to the painted clown man singing in the microphone, her other arm flung high overhead. Her breasts heaved inside the white leather corset as she gasped for air, and the diamond spade at her throat twinkled in the lights from overhead.

_"Let it out! You call me and I come a'runnin',"_ the madman crooned darkly, eyes raking over the sheep-minded crowd leaning in towards him, desperate for the heat and savagery displayed on the stage of the Queen of Swords.

The acid-eyed madwoman snapped her head toward him, eyes glittering cruelly - paired throwing knives aimed at his heart, dipped in fatal poison - and one slim hand in its black glove beckoned him toward her. The Joker lunged, teeth bared like a rabid animal. Sadie's heart leapt into her throat. Pressure and heat surged between her thighs, electricity arcing along her skin, and the clown had her in his arms again, dipping her over his arm. His gloved hand held her up, pressed against her back, and he slid his free hand through the air over her hips and down... just a little. Hovering, but not touching.

"_I turn the music on,_" the Joker bit out in staccato, and Sadie's hips bucked with each word.

Some of the women out there in the gaping crowd found enough oxygen to gasp with longing. Mingled with them, some of the rich men groaned and growled. Thousands of eyes darkened with lust. Blood rushed into a thousand cheeks.

_"I bring the fun in,"_ the clown man growled in a jazzy singsong, and wrenched the pixie-faced madwoman against him, his crotch shoved between her trembling hips. Her pubic bone dug into him even through her miniskirt and leggings. Her wine-red lips parted in a silent gasp, an O of pure pleasure, and lightning rocketed through her eyes and through her veins. Her hands clasped spasmodically at his shoulders. His low, responding growl didn't catch on the headset he wore. He licked his lips, and a woman in the audience cried out as if in orgasm.

Then someone blond and vicious and insane swirled into the front of the stage, and the Joker's head jerked up to take in sparking eyes like jagged knives of violet glass and a murderous rage soaring and streaking towards the surface. Crystal bared her teeth in a feral grin and something in the Joker's brain roared with pleasure and anticipation.

_"Now we're partying, and that's what it's all about."_

.

_**Part four:**__ and now the violence of a violet nocturne slashes through the music, erupting in a shower of glass and pain and rage, a swirling cyclone of madness and lust. Ice and blood and bone whirl together, singing and shrieking a siren song, and the viridian fire beckoning it ever onward flames hot and hotter, an inferno of chaos and hell on the stage, in front of thousands, and all they can do is watch as two unstoppable forces collide in a fury...._

A spike of pearl and silver and ice and death, her violet eyes flashing beacons of warning and pain, she glided forward, clicking her tap shoes on the scuffed wood of the stage. Her silvery blond curls bounced on her shoulders with each step. The Joker watched as a slender, psychotic Shirley Temple of a dancer strode toward him in time with the beat of the song as he sang the last lines and sent Sadie back to her spot. Pulse hammering in his throat, his hands clenched in anticipation of having Crystal in his clutches.

"_'Cause I know what you feel, girl!"_ He sang out, taunting her, his voice sliding between her legs, between her breasts, inside her skin. His eyes blazed out at her, tormenting, teasing, challenging. She was only a few feet away. "_Yes, I know! Just what you feel, girl,_" he called to her. Crystal lunged for him, and he grabbed her.

Crystal's eyes widened and her bloody mouth stretched in a sick grin full of malice and hatred, desire and madness. Pinned by the Joker's hands, on one knee before him, her face inches from his crotch, her eyes slashed him to the bone, drawing invisible trickles of blood as her mind hammered at him, hammered and pounded and clawed at him with her telepathic talons. His own psyche wrenched and raked at her thoughts, at her mental shields. His voice caressed in so many places, dragging heat up out of her frozen glass bones to scorch her flesh.

The fight would last the entire time they danced. They both knew it, and they both loved it that way.

"So," Crystal asked, pitching her voice to that of a young, innocent girl, little Red Riding Hood asking the Big Bad Wolf not to rip off her clothes and rape her in the woods. "You're like a good demon, bringing the fun in?"

The Joker chuckled, a real chuckle, not his forced, fake laugh meant to unnerve the spineless mobsters intent on taking over the city. His laugh rumbled in his chest, and even from inches away, the blond madwoman could feel it shaking the air like an earthquake.

_"All these melodies, they go on...."_

And he hauled her up and crushed her to his chest. Holding her as if it were a waltz, he spun her around once, twice, all the time ripping at her mental shields. His steel-bright, razor sharp mental touch plunged into her thoughts, hot and molten, rocketing pain and fiery sensation through her mind. He thrust into her mind, over and over, rearing back before pounding in again, sinking his thoughts into the icy ether of her psyche. Every touch of his mind cracked the glass and ice shields around her brain.

The diamond ice of Crystal's cool skin thawed as leather-clad, scalding hot hands bit into the indentations of her waist. Her frigid bones hummed and began to melt. Her blood raced through her veins. And the Joker sang, growled, snarled like a rutting beast into the delicate shell of her ear, his hot breath scorching her soul, running in steamy tendrils over her slick skin.

"_Too long,_" he growled in her ear. White heat rolled down her body and she shivered. Eldritch eddies and currents swirled around her thoughts, teasing, brushing and breathing, a thousand violating caresses that filled her body with fire. "_Then that energy starts to come on...._"

He spun her around, so that his heart slammed into her spine. Blond curls rustled under his torching breath as he sang, "_Way too strong_."

Crystal's heart froze in her breast, a coffin of ice trapping it inside her body. Her marrow began to crystallize, her brain to freeze, her blood crusting over with reaching claws of frost in her cold veins as the Joker's hands slid from her waist up and up, until his fingers brushed the undersides of her breasts. Against her will, the blond dancer's nipples tightened as if cold. The only heat in her body settled low in her belly and between her thighs. Violet eyes turning to glass, she watched the painted clown prince of crime out of the corner of her eye, shivering with the chill in her body.

"_All those hearts_," he half snarled, half crooned against the soft flesh of her neck, his fingers dancing to the valley between the pale breasts inside the blood red leather corset. The blond killer struggled not to gasp in front of the audience as sparks kissed her suddenly hot skin.

"_Lay open to my sting_," the Joker growled, and pumped his hips against the tight curve of Crystal's butt. Lavender eyes darkened to midnight violets and her mouth opened in a tight O of surprise and - did he dare think it - pleasure? Under his hands, the once-cool flesh burned with a desperate fire. Under the ramming of his razor thoughts, her mind opened to him again, not for the first time.

He grinned.

"_Plus some customer just died combusting,_" he added in that jazz-tastic singsong croon, a little tight beat to his voice, upbeat and cheerful. At the word "combusting," he spun her out by one hand. Her leather-clad fingers slid through his and she fell in slow motion to the stage floor. Ice blond hair spread out like a pool of white blood around her head, she truly looked almost dead. But this was all part of the show.

"_That's the penalty when life is but a song,_" he sang to the crowd, loving the song more than he'd thought. The heat and fire hadn't been there when the four cabaret girls had taught him their moves.

Then a flash of darkness and light caught his eye.

.

_**Part five:**__ as the mad maestro exerts his control over his dancing puppets, the last dancer, an empty shell of glass and shadow and insanity, emerges from the ever-present, eldritch darkness all around them and joins her master, intent on seducing the demon with feigned innocence in a sapphire requiem...._

Then a flash of darkness and light caught his eye and there came Danni, tiptoeing in her shoes as if hiding from the Big Bad, whatever it was. Danielle Spinelli had spunk and psychosis all in one, more so than the other three. With her chestnut curls bouncing against the white stem of her neck, with her breasts shivering in the cups of her corset like delicate birds waiting for someone to snap their necks, with her lean thighs in their black leggings, she was the Little Red Riding Hood girl out to seduce the Wolf by playing innocent, when really she had secreted a knife between her breasts and hid several rows of shark teeth between her legs.

Pointing one accusatory finger at the blue-eyed show girl, the Joker sang, _"You've brought me down and doomed this town."_

Danni froze and blinked her wide blue eyes as if she'd just seen him. Biting her lush bottom lip, she started to back up as if to run away, and the painted clown prince of crime stalked toward her, beckoning forcibly with one outstretched hand. Almost as if it were against her will, the brunette dancer tapped her way towards him.

_"So when we blow this scene," _he informed her, still singing, waiting for the madness to kick in, _"Down we will go to my kingdom below and you will be my queen."_

Danni glanced at him, meeting his eyes, and he saw something that poured fury through his chest and into his blood. She was hiding from him. That blue-eyed bitch was hiding her insanity from him so that he could not twist and trap her like the other three. Danielle Spinelli had the Joker's measure, and she wouldn't let him in to play with her inner darkness in front of a thousand onlookers. Maybe in the privacy of some slaughter-filled dark night, but not on a stage under the scorching theatre lights.

_"'Cause I know what you feel girl...."_

No, he didn't know. Not yet, he didn't. But he would find out. After this, tonight, when the last piece of his plan was put into action, he would force the little blue-eyed bitch with angel dust and anarchy in her empty glass eyes to show him what was inside - either under her skull, or under her skin.

Her choice.

.

_**Part six:**__ and off in the dark, the audience moans and sighs and weeps with the insanity swirling upon the stage during the end of the requiem, never realizing the challenge passing like a thought between two demons under the lights. And watching them, watching them with avid, devouring eyes, is the last card of the deck, the one who is still too young to come out of hiding and show what is beneath her skull. She is too young to know that she is mad, and too young to realize what it means that her mind is drawn to the creature dancing upon the stage...._

"Close your mouth, Harleen, you look like a fish," Mrs. Quinzell yapped at her youngest daughter like a barking dog.

Startled out of her avid watching, the barely fourteen-year-old girl snapped her mouth shut with an audible click of her teeth. She couldn't help it. There was something maddening and inspiring about the dancers on that stage, whirling and playing parts in a story about demons and lust and madness. And that singer in the front, jiving up there in the black leather tux, he ate up the entire world with his feral eyes and the gorgeous, messy blond hair.

Harleen knew she would dream of him tonight when she went to bed, and for several nights after this.

.

.

.

**Author's Note:** okay, so this might be four parts. Actually, it will be. Maybe even five, because there's so much I can do with this....

I didn't realize how much fun I could have with this, how much mayhem and storyline could be woven into a freaking _dance_ of all things. But now the words are freaking pouring out of me and I have to go with it. There's too much restrained violence and passion here for it to end just yet. Besides, Christmas is a time of possibilities. I know Christmas hasn't happened again yet (and I missed 2009's Christmas) but still. It's freaking awesome, how electrified I am with this right now. I haven't felt this energized to work on this fanfic in a while. Like, a long, long while. So, hope you enjoyed. I hope you guys could visualize what was happening between everyone. If you have to take the time to reread it slowly and use your imaginations to visualize it in all of its glory, I recommend you do. It's hot.

I stopped it here because, at the time that Crystal makes her debut on the stage for the dance with the Joker, I've almost got 5000 words already, and I don't want this longer than 7000 if I can help it. Actually, right now, it's 6400+. So, yeah. Sorry.

The song I used was called _That's What It's All About,_ which is from the musical episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ (_Once More, With Feeling_).

So, I introduced Harley Quinn. What do you guys think of her, Poison Ivy, the Mad Hatter, and the Riddler? I figured I could diversify my villains, since the bad guys of Gotham are not all united as one team against Batman. They fight Batman and each other, it seems like. So, yeah, I felt like bringing in potential problems for the Joker that don't dress up like flying rodents.


	33. 32 Duets of Music and Madness

_**A/N: This is a bit of a breather chapter for you guys, but an important even does occur here. Hope you like it.**_

**.**

**.**

**Five Queens and a Joker**

**Chapter Thirty-Two  
****Duets of Music and Madness  
****or  
****Have Yourself a Very Joker Christmas, part 3**

.

.

Cold.

Frigid ice coated her throat as soon the chilly water flooded her mouth. As the scorching fire in her flesh and blood battled with the cold, Crystal gulped down the icy water, trying to beat back the euphoric sensations slithering beneath her skin. What was wrong with her? Where was the Good Child, her rather irritating voice of conscience and common sense? Had the simpering, whimpering pest finally given up and disintegrated under the Joker's telepathic onslaught?

_Still here,_ the tiny voice mumbled timidly. The blond psychopath snarled under her breath and chugged another mouthful of the water from her bottle.

The dance had been brutal. Even now, the inferno that had raged on the stage ate at her shields, at her heart, at her psyche, ruining her composure. But she wouldn't let it. No, never, she would never let that psychotic clown man get to her. She had a job to do. There was still dancing to be done.

Even as she thought this, the young dancer peeked from the wings of the stage to see her coworkers kicking their legs, bouncing their hips, and swishing their hands to the bouncy and flouncy Jingle Bell Rock. Bruce hadn't wanted his top girls to actually perform the song. He had only desired Rose's choreography for the intermission number. The whole Christmas season made the red-haired vaudeville girl so cheerful. No wonder the routine for the happy carol had turned out so perky, preppy, and absolutely cute.

It made the blonde want to puke.

She took another sip of water and wondered whether or not things were going to get worse. Already, her brain was buzzing from the psychic battle that had occurred during the dance. The fall to the stage floor had been, almost against her will, a submission. The violet-eyed nut job knew that she couldn't fight the painted man. It would destroy her will and unleash her powers on everyone she loved. That was not an option.

The blond sighed and took another swig, feeling the sweat being absorbed in the matte powder mixed with her foundation. The ice of her hair, of her makeup, of her slick white leather clothes, made her feel so cold. She shivered as the heat of her body faded under the beating of that cold. Crystal wondered vaguely what the Good Child thought of the dance routine, of Nicholas's death, of the fight they'd put up in the opening number against the Joker.

_I liked it,_ her inner voice murmured, surprising her.

_Really?_

_Yeah. He's a good dancer, and I like his voice,_ the Good Child told her host.

Crystal shook her head in amazement and caught her top hat when it tumbled off of her head. Dropping it to her nylon-encased lap, she sucked down the last of her water and then reapplied her lipstick. They had maybe ten minutes before the curtain would drop down, the lights would die, and then the blaze of stage lights would flood the world and the curtain would rise. Her blood would begin to freeze, her marrow would crystallize, and she would be out on the stage in front of the audience, blowing their minds with the fury and the fire.

"You all right, Crystal?"

The blonde turned to see Alfred's concerned face. She managed to wrench her lips into a half-smile and nod. When the old British man arched one brow in query, she tapped her throat to indicate that she was trying to preserve her voice. He nodded, making a sound of assent, and went onto the stage as Jingle Bell Rock ended. After this would be Danni's duet with the man replacing Nicholas, another intermission piece while the main performers rested their voices and their legs and feet. Even Danni's piece would be slow and almost gentle, despite the homicidal subtext to the music. People would love it, the neurotic blond woman knew. They always loved the stories about love ending in slaughter.

_And so would the Joker-man,_ Crystal thought to herself as she watched Alfred speaking to the crowd about the under-dancers who were making their stage bows to the clapping audience. She knew they were waiting for something furious and deadly to come out and play with their sensibilities now that the cutesy act had left the building.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, our student-dancers performing for the first time this Christmas Eve. Give a round of applause for Liaze Woodman,_" more cheering for a tall, well-muscled redhead, "_Alys Nein,_" and a slender auburn-haired waif with pale skin bowed. "_Brianna Bellemont,_" a brunette girl with the round cheeks of a high school freshman girl bounced a bow. "_Kylie Cave,_" and another redhead dipped forward. "_Katherine Vale,_" a blond girl with short, boy-bobbed hair saluted the crowd, which made some of the clapping people laugh. "_Diane McMann and Celeste Woodman,_" Alfred concluded, and a curvy Italian girl no taller than five-three and an equally voluptuous blonde bowed together. "_Let's give them another hand._"

The clapping was loud, but not as heady and roaring and ripe with cheers as the applause that the Damundos and Danni and the others normally garnered. That was to be expected. These people weren't here for the intermission show. It was like half-time at a high school football game. Most people didn't care. It was why Danni and Alice both had duets and Rose had a pretty solo - to keep people from getting too bored.

Even as Crystal watched, her best friend smoothed down the sheath of white silk she now wore in place of the Christmas skirt and bustier ensemble from before. Taking a steadying breath, Danni walked out onto the stage for her duet.

So did the Joker.

.

_Beep-beep-beep!_

Bruce glanced away from the brunette on the stage that he recognized as Danielle Spinelli and looked down at his pager, which flashed its red laser light at him, trying to ensnare his attention. Realizing the import of what this meant, the multi-billionaire playboy clenched his jaw to keep the curses from pouring out of his mouth. At the same time, mad joy flooded his veins, filling his body with a hot sizzling sensation. Rage wrapped around his heart. Coronary chambers overflowed with midnight black excitement as the need to hunt began to take over. Outside, night had already fallen. Scum were beginning to creep out from beneath the rocks of the city slums, anxious to poison the pristine image Gotham tried to show the world.

And the Batman was waiting to hunt them all down.

With a silent but insincere apology to the girls he employed at the Queen of Swords - the girls who would be expecting him to come down and thank them all personally at this, one of the top shows of the year; the girls whose hearts he was tearing with his absence even though he knew how much they all adored him - the man who only on the surface pretended to be Bruce Wayne shucked his mental masks and began his transformation into vengeance, his metamorphosis into the Dark Knight.

He became the Batman.

.

Danni sat, rigid as a steel rod, as the violins began to sing around her, the symphony humming out of the darkness of the orchestra pit. The music hummed around her. Strings were stroked into melody, and she tried to let herself relax, but the presence behind her silently forbade it. It did no good for her to focus on the soft percussion like a lullaby, the brass of the cymbals and gentle thud of lacquered balsa wood against leather drum heads. Even as the rhythm moved her heart to following it, she felt the hellish heat behind her and shivered.

Then it was time for the words to come, and she fell into her role, all the madness of the world drowned in the notes that welled up and overflowed from her throat. The Joker listened, and so did the girl in the audience who gazed on both the performers, her blue eyes hungrily devouring the duet.

"_They call me the wild rose,_" she sang, her voice eerie and haunting as she introduced herself to the hushed, rapt audience. Perched on her stool in the pale moon glow of a weak spotlight in front of a microphone on a silver stand, the brunette vaudeville girl went on, her rich voice like velvet, "_But my name was Eliza Day. Why they call me it, I do not know, for my name was Eliza Day._"

And then the madman began to sing, and both the girl known as Harleen and the woman known as Danielle fell under the spell of his rich voice.

"_From the first day I saw, I knew she was the one,_" he rumbled into the microphone, his hellion eyes piercing Danni to the core. Her fingertips tingled, her head buzzed. The scent of gunpowder, ice and fire, smoke and blood, assaulted her nose, wooing her along with the rich alcoholic sweetness of his voice. The blue-eyed dancer felt her heart stutter in the cage of her chest. What was wrong with her? She watched the lips, framed by thick scars hidden from the crowd with stage makeup, form the words as his obsidian emerald gaze stabbed into her eyes.

"_She stared in my eyes and smiled,_" he added, and Danni felt her lips quirk up almost against her will. "_For her lips were the color of the roses,_" the painted criminal sang. The brunette tasted the Blood Berry Blossom of her sanguinely scarlet lipstick as the words flowed over her like the tide, "_That grew down the river all bloody and wild._"

In her brain, she heard a click, like a key in a padlock or a door unlatching. A shivery black thing whispered against the bones of her skull. It drove a shudder of something unknown up and down her spine. The dancer fought back a sigh as the words whispered over the same path as the shivery blackness.

_Something is wrong,_ the voice of her madness told her in a petrified whisper, tugging at her senses with the urgency of a frightened child. Inside her skull, something shuddered with sugary terror. Still, the cabaret girl could not seem to force herself to look away from the Joker's eyes. Those insane eyes roiling with anarchy and some undefined emotion scorched her like molten steel. Danni's inner voice yanked on her attention and she batted it away. _Danni!_ It shrieked at her. She ignored it.

_"When he knocked on my door and entered the room,"_ she sang, her words reflecting the wonder of the girl in the song. What was happening in her mind? Had something entered her without her knowledge? Did it matter? As she asked this, a sense of peace stole over her, a warm liquid feeling that soothed her. It wrapped her up in its black hold and caressed the fear away.

But the voice of her innate psychosis did not leave her, and the alarm bells rang, albeit silently in the back of her occupied mind.

_"My trembling subsided in his sure embrace."_

Phantom hands brushed against her throat, zephyr-like fingertips of vapor and breeze caressing the soft skin over her pulse. It made her heart jump. For the first time, the girl wondered at the intensity of the feeling surging up in her. Only dancing and singing made her feel even half this alive. Yet now, singing on a stool, with the Joker standing behind her, his chin resting on top of her head, half in warning, the heart in her chest pounded with life, with living, with vitality and some emotion she could not understand.

How? How had the clown prince of crime holding her in his arms managed to pour this furious emotion into her body when she had felt emotionless for so long? There was no crimson haze of rage or black mist of hatred as had so often wrenched her from the moorings of what little sanity remained to her. Now there was simply... longing.

The sheer force of it rocked her, an earthquake of the mind.

"_He would be my first man, and with a careful hand,_" Danni sang as those callused, cool fingers slid up from her shoulders to the sharp ridges of the collar bones pushing against her paper thin flesh, glass against cream silk trying to slice through to bring crimson blood, life, vitality. Suddenly, there was such vitality in her body. It hummed beneath her skin, flooded her veins; it pulsed under the flesh of her temples. Did his hands bring it forth? Was he pulling the life out of her core, flooding her body with it? Those cool, callused hands loosely cupped her head. He ran his thumbs along the convergent lines of her jaw. A deceptively gentle fingertip touched the lips that formed the words, "_He wiped at the tears that ran down my face._"

The Joker's knuckles brushed against her painted cheeks and suddenly the blue-eyed show girl felt tears burn the backs of her eyes. She forced the tears into hiding, wondering at their presence. One touch... how? Pressing a trembling hand to her breasts, Danni felt her heart pounding against her sternum. Her bones were broken porcelain against the hammer of her thundering heartbeat.

"_They call me the wild rose,_" she breathed the words, lilting them with harmony. "_But my name was Eliza Day. Why they call me that,_" the singer added, her voice trembling almost as much as the shaking hand pressed to her heart. "_I do not know,_" the words hummed with uncertainty, insecurity, all the questions burning in her eyes along with her unexpected tears that had no source other than the lightest of touches from the painted clown prince's hands. "_For my name was Eliza Day._"

_Danni, snap out of it,_ a breathy, frightened voice urged her. For one moment, the brunette thought it was Crystal, but no. No, this voice held no sharp edge of violet ice, jagged glass waiting to slice the mind to shreds. It was herself. It was her own madness, desperate for her attention.

_What?_

_You're in trouble. He's doing something to you. Don't let him!_

But it was too late, she wanted to tell her other self, the part of her that was her warning system, what made her a sociopath. The emotion had already come. It had come, the fiery feeling so intense it made her lips quiver and her flesh heat, the skin flushing with blood. There was nothing she could. There was no way she could not let the Joker do something; it had already been done. Instead, she could only sing, trying to understand what had happened.

"_On the second day I brought her a flower,_" he half-growled, but the menace was not directed at the singer seated in front of him.

Danni fingered the blood red bloom on the thorny, thirsty stem in her slender hands. He had given it to her as she sat down at the beginning. Even now, the thorns tried to penetrate the softness of her skin, sink into wetness, draw forth pain and liquid pleasure from the hurt. The thought of it almost made Danielle shudder. Revulsion had no part in her reaction; only the heat of the painted psycho holding her throat in his murderous, velvet grasp.

"_She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen,_" the Joker crooned, the black bondage like hell and abyssal desire rubbing against the slender column of throat in his powerful hands, the pulse flickering like a trapped butterfly, between the breasts cupped in the silky cling of the creamy white dress. With the bruising black pressure of his fingertips against her larynx, he forced her head back until he could look down into her eyes. Hellion eyes met a gaze of angel dust, silver against the blue, cocaine sizzle in her eyes. Narcotic requiems exploded in his brain, symphonies of suicide, of homicide, of anarchy blaring inside his head, but the music of the duet drowned them out. Somehow, the angel dust of her eyes soothed the burn, the need for hell and chaos. Like Crystal, he mused silently, none of his thoughts reflected even in the twist of his lips. Like opium eyes of violet glass, Danni's blue eyes soothed the fury. But his gaze... it warped her further, took away the rationale of her madness and made her not an emotionless sociopath, but a psychopath of monumental capacity.

"_I said, 'Do ya know where the wild roses grow, so sweet and scarlet and free?'_"

"_On the second day he came,_" Danni's voice filled the stage, telling of the madman who would steal her soul even though the song was only of mortality. The Joker's eyes smoldered in their sockets. What was he thinking? "_With a single red rose,_" the singer went on, shivering under the heat of those hellion eyes, feeling the thirsty bite of the thorns hungry for the blood beneath her skin.

"_He said, 'Give me your loss and your sorrow,_'" she sang, her heart palpitating in her breast as the Joker's lips touched against her ear, mouthing "loss" and "sorrow" as her throat welled up with them. Something like panic surged through her. How had he turned her into this?

_He's your match, get away from him!_

_I can't,_ she moaned to her inner psyche. Fire flared beneath her flesh, burning and hungry for something deep in her mind. Mist like shadows caressed the bones of her skull, her lips, the backs of her angel dust eyes.

_Run, now!_

_Can't...._

"I nodded my head as I lay on the bed," her heart breathed into the music, a cry, a pleading into the tenebrous abyss yawning before her. Was she going to leap into it? Plummet to the psychic death that awaited her if she did not get up and run far away from the creature behind her? The monster's breath, chocolate liquor, buzzed her senses. Snares of molten lead and whiskey scent grabbed at her mind, hauled her down and down, deep into a darkness that her inner madness had only hinted at in the past. Hellion eyes filled her vision. A voice in her mind calling to her, taunting her, inviting and seductive as opium death, it was singing in her skull.

"_If I show you the roses,_" Danni half-gasped along with the music. Air was a foreign entity in her body, choking her, yet the song continued to rage in her chest, sweet and potent and deadly. His hands burned her cold flesh. Sweat mingled with the matte powder and foundation and the ruby blush on her cheeks. The sepulchral insanity beckoned her. Her power welled up in her chest, desperate and almost... almost afraid. The fear was a sprinkle like pollen on silky petals. "_Will you follow?_

"_They call me the wild rose but my name was Eliza Day_," the music roared out of her, a protest, it was a sobbing protest against the inevitable. Pitch blackness loomed up behind her eyes, filling her with a darkness she had never tasted. It writhed on her tongue. It licked at the base of her spine. It burned against her skin. The fire of it, the icy fire that blazed hotter than hell under the flesh, inside the bones, turning her to ash; had that been what Crystal and the others had felt? If so, how were they not mad? How were they still clinging to their lucidity? How close were the Damundo girls to the edges of dementia, the sheer black cliffs of insanity?

"_Why they call me that, I do not know._"

Was this the danger that Rose had sensed? A beacon of madness and beauty flared behind her, a pyre of chaos. Anarchy taunted her, calling. How had she missed it before? Was this the surrender they would all undergo when they each finally understood the man who was more than mortal, the man who had hijacked their lives and arrested their souls? He held them in a grip Danni had never felt until it was too late. Would it be like that for Gotham City? Was this the fate the four of them were condemning their city to? And did they even care?

_You would condemn an entire city to destruction,_ her inner thoughts shrieked at her, rebuked her, but the urge to attempt to pretend to care refused to rise up in her.

How could she not care? Was there anyone in this accursed city she didn't want to see dead?

Rose, Crystal, Sadie and Rachel Dawes stood out from among the faceless, ambling throng of those citizens who would die in a conflagration of infernal flames and explosions. They would be all right, however, because she would protect them. And Bruce, Alfred and Lucius, who had been so kind to them all - she would work with the others to ensure their safety. She would save the Queen of Swords because it was her home, her sanctuary. But after that, no one remained to ignite her compassion. Her soul remained black and empty, void of feeling as her brain showed her the flames of hell racing through Gotham.

"_For my name was Eliza Day,_" she added, her heart a jackhammer shattering her porcelain bones, deep inside the silk blackness of her body. "_On the third day he took me to the river,_" she sang, her power spilling out of her like a waterfall as the fires filled her internal vision. It dripped like melting blue ice over the stage, staining the wood with psychometric taint. It was spinning, a whirlpool of psychic energy, a vortex of time lapse and potential futures that told her everything and nothing about what would become of her. All was midnight darkness. She was blind and falling into a pit of black possibility. The winds of change and danger flooded her senses, derailing her thoughts, and all that held her anchored to reality as she started to lose her grip was the song, the song she sang because she loved to sing. "_He showed me the roses,_" those burning hot hands showing her the fires in the abyssal pits, they flared before her secondary sight, a vision of hell against the bleakness of heavenly paradise that soothed her terror. "_And we kissed,_" she added as cool lips slick with stage makeup and maybe blood burned through the flesh of her cheek.

Danielle wrenched her thoughts from her other half, the madness and the power, and tried to bring herself fully into reality. Plutonian shores of the psyche were battered beneath psychic oceans demanding blood, sanguine seas of mental imprisonment. Where was her anchor of white bone in the blackness of her dementia, the blood red star burning in the alien firmament clouded with storms?

The song, where was she? What were the words? Without conscious thought, they came from her Blood Berry Rose red lips even as hell on earth filled her eyes with its lingering, smoky promise of retribution and damnation.

"_And the last thing I heard was a muttered word,_" the brunette performer sang, melancholy in her voice and confusion in her mind. Fires burned, in her eyes, under her skin, shaking her to the core. Bones turned to transparent glass in the crucible of her visions. Flesh turned to desert silk, white as sand and scorching. Hot hands were tangling long fingers in her dark curls. Fingers dug into her scalp - hers? She didn't know. What was happening? She tried to ground herself with the words, "_As he knelt above me with a rock in his fist._"

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The Joker hid his grin.

He was good at hiding the smiles, the chuckles, the laughs. But this was going too well. Didn't Danni know what she was doing to herself? Unveiling her fears, showing him her weaknesses - that's what the cabaret girl was doing. Mad, oh the insanity, it was tangible, like blood gushing from sliced arteries. Didn't she see how close to the edge she was? Madness, like gravity, only needed the slightest of pushes. And when the push came, Danni didn't even feel it; she only fell... and kept falling.

"_On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow,_" he rumbled, the brimstone of his voice carrying to the microphone with no effort. He felt Danni try to orient herself, and knew the instant the dancer latched onto his voice. Was his anarchy the anchor of her self? Or was she using him as a shield against her madness? He had to find out, but not right now. It would be too in-depth a process for public viewing.

"_She lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief,_" the painted clown prince of crime sang, imagining the wind through the ashen ruins of the city that had tried to destroy him. In his mind, he could see it - the fires blazing, the people screaming, dogs growling, children sobbing, the buildings crumbling, the powers and dominions falling. And around him cavorted the women, the Queens he knew were waiting to be collected - Rose, absinthe-eyed red haired murderess, dancing like a child as ashes fell from the smoky sky like snowflakes; Crystal, with her opium eyes that soothed the need for dynamite and gasoline, picking off the idiot mob goons one by one with well aimed shots from her guns; Sadie, eyes like acid that burned to the bone and dragged him to heights he'd never dreamed of without her even having to say a word, lighting more and more fuses as bombs exploded and burned the world to the ground; Danni, struggling to keep a rational hold on her sociopathic tendencies, desperate to straddle the line between assassin and murderess, no longer conflicted as she beat a woman to death with a rock and her bare fists; Rachel... oh, Rachel, with her alcoholic eyes that calmed him enough so that he could think, could plan, could ruminate and brood on the plots and machinations he orchestrated like a mad, mad puppeteer... with Maggie in her eyes, ready to butcher the helpless, shambling city cattle, Rachel always looked beautiful with fire glowing in her eyes, smoke smudging her face, drenched in burgundy blood.

"_And I kissed her goodbye,_" he sang, and he thought, _Never. _Not to those five. Not if he had anything to say about it. They were all too much fun. "_Said all beauty must die,_" the words were ashes in his mouth but the plan had worked. Danni sat trembling beneath the black blossom bruise grip of his hands on her slender throat. The diamond club symbol glittered like iced death. Her entire mind, power and all - and oh, he knew she had power, he could feel it like hell and lightning, a storm raging under her pale, powdered skin - wrapped around his presence now. She belonged to him, he thought, and sung, "_And I leant down and planted a rose 'tween her teeth._"

"They call me the wild rose," his Queen of Clubs began the last chorus, and he tasted the richness of death and fire on her voice. She was lost to anyone but him. "But my name was Eliza Day," her voice like lullabies of insanity, it rocked him, made it ridiculously difficult to bite back the mad grin threatening to crack his face in half. "Why they call me that, I do not know," the blue-eyed madwoman sang, eerie and melancholy and full of hidden promises. His fingers bit into her skin, tasting her pain and her pulse. "For my name was Eliza Day."

His eyes scanned the crowd as the violins drew down in the melody, pulling the audience into the death of the singer. What would it be like for him to kill her? Did he want to know badly enough that he would snap her neck here, now? It was a choice, but he could be patient. Death didn't have to be immediate to be gratifying. He knew that from experience, had taught his little Queens with Gambol's death. What a great un-birthday present for Rose, his Queen of Hearts. The Ace of Knaves grinned on the inside, where no one would see, as he dug his fingers into Danni's shoulders. The shudder that ran through her was not from pain, oh no. Knowing that made it even harder for him to keep from smiling.

"For my name was Eliza Day," Danni echoed, fighting to keep her voice even. He could feel the struggle in the tension of her body. He had sworn to show her... and he had. The witch with eyes like angel dust belonged to him now. "For my name... was Eliza.... Day."

They both moved to the front to bow to the cheering audience. But when they turned to walk off stage, the madman caught the brunette's eye. Her mouth parted in a perfect O and she stared at him, her eyes glazed. He'd caught her, hook, line and sinker.

The Joker laughed.

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Rose watched Alice go on after Danni, troubled and more than a bit freaked. The laughter that had touched her ears like a violating caress after her best friend's duet with the Joker unnerved her still, sending shivers up her spine. But what had the red haired vaudeville performer in goose bumps and half ready to strike out with her projective empathy was not the painted clown man. Why, she could not have said. It puzzled her, annoyed her. After the dance she had shared with her sisters, with Danni, and with the master of mountebanks himself, she was certain that that ought to be her main concern. Still, it wasn't.

Alice, petite and blond and timid except under the stage lights, drew her emerald eyes from watching the other Damundos and Danni to watching her instead.

As soon as Alice began to sing - a lilting soprano, the vibrato in her voice adding richness without the normal velvet sultriness prevalent in older, more experienced singers - Rose's hackles shot up. She resisted the urge to bare her teeth like a wolf and snap. Something out there had her empathy on edge. Resisting the pressure pushing against her temples, the absinthe-eyed singer shut her eyes tight and delved down into the inner darkness of her skull.

_Oh, you want me now, do you?_ The Dark Passenger's sarcasm bit at Rose's mind, but the redhead ignored it and focused instead on what she was sensing. As soon as her madness picked up on the strains of fear and frustration rolling off of the dancer in black waves, it snapped to attention and sharpened itself with her senses. _Did you see anything, smell anything? Hear anything?_

_The Joker's laugh,_ she thought at it.

The Passenger shook its head beneath the surface of the sanguine pool in which it resided. Rose, needing the closeness more than any sane woman would care to admit, kicked off her psychic shoes and dipped her feet into the bloody surf.

Immediately, cold, pale hands grasped her ankles. The show girl didn't fight, only allowed her Dark Passenger to haul itself out of the scarlet seas and onto the shore of onyx sands and twilight tinged by a bloody sunset. Naked, smeared red with blood and white as pearl where flesh showed through under the crimson-laden moon, Rose's insanity laid out on the sand, covering her ivory breasts with long, muscled arms. Rosaline stared at it, studying it: the long, tangled ropes of garnet hair, the feral face with serpent-slit eyes like green poison, the high, firm breasts and narrow ribcage that showed the shadows of the dagger bones beneath the pale flesh, the blood red thatch between the white thighs, the long legs capable of snapping a man's neck, and the dainty feet of a dancing girl. This creature was what lived inside of her head. It was an integral part of her.

_Do I get to come out now?_ The Passenger demanded.

_Join with me,_ the dancer said quietly, and when she got to her feet she held out her hand to the inner madness. It too rose, taking her hand, and they ran through the surf, ignoring the eldritch eddies and currents tugging at their legs. When the water rose above their waists, Rose and the Dark Passenger plunged beneath the surface, melded in a fusion of black hole and white star, ruby blood and emerald poison, and then surged to the surface of their mind.

They looked out at the crowd in the audience from the safety of the stage wings, unseen by any. Alice's sweet voice made them smile. But where was the source of their fear? Rose and the Passenger growled inwardly, focused... and found it.

In the audience, in the third row... there sat a man in a dark blue tuxedo. His watery blue eyes were trained on Alice, and his putty-like face held an expression of pride and slavish devotion. It made the conjoined personalities sick. But the mad gleam in those blue eyes put them on edge. Here was the man Crystal had kicked out of the lobby earlier that day. What was he doing here? How had he gotten past security? Those questions niggled at Rose until the Dark Passenger snarled at her to shut up and focus, and then the absinthe eyes trained back on the little man who was, quite probably, Alice's stalker.

_Kill him,_ the Passenger ordered.

_Can't, this is the Queen of Swords,_ Rosaline reminded her, annoyance flashing through her mental voice. _No death here unless in self-defense._

_He will hurt Alice._

_Not,_ Rose remarked,_ if I have anything to say about it._

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**Author's Note:** _okay, I know, this was not what I said it was. But I realized that a) I needed to give Danni more screen time and b) the scene with Danni and the Joker where she surrenders herself to him during a contest of minds needed to be written. And I couldn't make it all one chap because then it would be, like 12000 words and my longest chapter in this fic is only like, 8000 and I hate off-balancing myself, chapter wise. _

_This chapter is 5500+ words, not counting the author's note._

_Anyway, while the sexuality that was so prevalent in the last chapter is absent, that isn't the point of this chapter. It's about surrender, not sex. While the other three are very much wrapped up in the Joker, Danni is the first to give herself over to him completely in his current incarnation as the Joker. Rachel's connections with him are all in the past, so she doesn't count. However, Danni is still reeling from and second guessing this move in the next chapter. So yeah, the Christmas chapter is actually a five-parter, not a four-parter like I had anticipated. However, chapter 32 and 33 are going to be posted at the same time. _

_So, yeah. Hope you enjoyed. This is also to give you guys a breather because in part 4, there's a lot of action and sexuality, and in part 5 a lot of action. So I wanted to make sure we had some breathing space. Hope it relaxed you a little._

_Question: does anyone want me to write a fanfic (after I get a bit further along in this one) about the life hinted at in this fic regarding Rachel and Jack Napier? Just wondering. I have no plans as yet, but I want to see what my devoted readers think. Speaking of readers, I have to compliment Lorien Urbani on her detailed reviews. That's the kind of thing I'm looking for, so thank you so much Ms. Urbani._


	34. 33 You Tore My Heart

**A/N: You MUST listen to the song You Tore My Heart by Oona and Dave Tweedie before you read this chapter. It will impact how you experience it. PLEASE!**

**_http : // www . youtube . com / watch ? v = emCiD6jgX6A_**

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_**http : // www . youtube . com / watch ? v = 13sdC4xQG6c & feature = related**_

**(Take out the spaces)**

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**Five Queens and a Joker**

**Chapter Thirty-Three  
****You Tore My Heart  
****or  
****Have Yourself a Very Joker Christmas, part 4**

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The music began.

Somewhere in the dark, cymbals chimed, brass copper clashes in time with the beat. A slow, low bass beat rumbled with each pounding of leather against leather through the stage floor, through the curtains, through the chairs, through the air itself. Somewhere in the abyssal cavern of the orchestra pit, three cellos and a string bass thrummed to life. Their electric bass guitar player pulled out a well-powdered violin bow and began to make love to his nylon guitar strings with the classical piece, dragging out an eerie moan that ran shivers through the audience.

Sadie began to sing, her rich alto voice blending soprano notes but keeping them layered with velvet and heat, and as the music rose up like a wave and crashed down on her, Rose lost herself.

So did Crystal and Danni, but they were apart from the maelstrom spinning between the three others: betwixt the absinthe-eyed dancing girl, the acid-eyed singer, and the insane creature spinning them both in his grip like a mad, mad puppeteer. It filled the four women with chaotic rage, eldritch currents of madness and narcotic desire that burned under their skin. Longing shuddered up the blond psychopath's spine, shivered down the blue-eyed murderess's back. Need clawed and ripped at them, demanding and brutal and unforgiving as they watched: watched the macabre, killer waltz between Sadie, Rose, and the Joker.

Soon, though. Very soon, indeed, they too would be a part of the sadomasochistic tango flaring like hell fire between the three. It would be the five of them caught up in the whirlwind of need: four queens and a Joker.

"_La, la-ah, la-ah, la-la la-la-lala-la-la,_" Sadie sang as the music beat itself in time with her words, a dark tango waiting to spring and ensnare the listeners.

The brim of Sadie's top hat dipped down over the acid burn of her fathomless eyes - cat's eyes, demon's eyes, eyes full of burning fury, of silent promises of pleasure and pain. Sable bangs covered the slender line of her jaw, the swan-like column of her pale throat. Blood gleamed crimson on the tips of her nails, on the plump swell of her lower lip, on the flush in her cheeks. Black vinyl poured itself over her body, a caressing grip that hugged her pale breasts, plunging to encircle her bony ribcage, gripping her razorblade hips, her muscled thighs and ass, stopping just over the top of her boots. Boots ran up to the thigh, the folded, shiny black leather tops brushing against the crotch of her black silk panties. Black vinyl gloves slipped easily up the long, white arms, hugging flesh like a serpent, intent on death.

The singer, whose innocent but bloody mouth seemed seconds away from devouring the microphone, reeked of sex and murder.

Behind her, the dancing girls swung their heads in exaggerated circles, a mad throng of demon worshiping idolaters. The girls' hair whipped around, blood red and ice white and midnight black lashes anxious to split flesh and draw blood. Shoulders rose and fell with the beat. Their faces were blurs of white and tan and brown as they moved, features a smear of identity washed away in the blood red stage lights and convenient shadows before the heads dropped and the women slumped as if drugged... or submissive. Breasts bound in leather corsets gleamed with oil, arms rippled with muscle, hands clenched the seats of the chairs on which they seemed to fornicate with the very sulfuric air around them, hips rolled as if accepting some sort of tenebrous, insubstantial penetration anxious to cut away all virtue with the rhythm so reminiscent of sex, spines arched in what might be pain or might possibly be pleasure... or some unholy mingling of the two opposing forces.

Behind _them_, these girls who offered their lush bodies to unseen demons who tainted the air with evanescent sulfur and eldritch mists, the men rolled their hips and gripped the girls' thin arms in bruising hands. Each dancer slid up the black aluminum chair and his partner's sweating, shaking body, the light gleaming off of their sweaty, oiled chests, with a predacious gleam in their eyes and ravenous smiles upon their thin lips. The black lines around each dagger gaze turned a man's face into a demon's. The blood red lips flared back in cruel grins. In the muscular arms of the men, the women turned into writhing, desperate slaves of diabolical entities. Those same sanguine mouths found their ways to exposed, vulnerable throats as wide, rough hands pressed against his partner's rolling hips, touching, tantalizing, tormenting.

Music beat at the women, at the men, at the star pair, and at the soloist, pounded into their skulls with staccato promises of dark pleasure, with velvet bondage in every note, the pain of silken brutality, the violence that hummed in the blood and thrummed under every beat of the rhythm. The spotlight was like a knife, slashing through the tenebrous blackness and crimson light of the stage to stab deep into the red-haired sacrifice and her murderous paramour.

Rose's red hair had been sprayed, sparkled, spritzed, so that now there was no doubt about the fiery ruby and garnet sheen to her locks. The curls remained, combed into loose loops now that hung past her shoulders and down her back. Her lips were Slutty Scarlet Succubus, a red so vibrant and sensual that just seeing the pout of those crimson lips at one time had caused one of the men pleasuring himself in the audience to come to orgasm with a muffled groan. Her eyes were bright with poison green powder, electric lime mascara, and the absinthe sparkles that whirled her eyes into vortexes of viridian madness. In her black taffeta dress, ripped and shredded to look Goth Lolita, with her black Mary-Jane character shoes and the fingerless black gloves, she stood in the wings, ready to swoop down and destroy the delicately veiled sensibilities of the monsters in the audience, the inhuman child seductress in ragged taffeta and silk.

Before her stood a demon, in a midnight dark tuxedo vest that left muscular arms bare, that showed off the thatch of chest hair the color of old gold. In dark slacks and black men's character shoes, with the hellish makeup painting his face, he was as frightening then as he was in the grease paint of the King of Clowns.

And in front of the entire Satanic orgy, her eyes like toxic sex raking the crowd with talons of want, of lust, of painful desire, Sadie sang, her sultry voice eagerly tasting each syllable, rolling it in the cavernous heat of her mouth, spitting it out with pouting red lips to let it drip down her chin, down her body, and flood the crowd.

_"La-la, la-la la."_

Rose, in time with her sister's seductive call, spun out of the midnight wings of off-stage and hurled herself on the delicate points of her blistered toes into the blinding hell of the spotlight. Her Dark Passenger screamed in agony, the anguish of her desperate shriek reverberating in the girl's skull, but the dancer ignored the cries of her other, sometimes darker half and let the white hot beam of the spotlight plunge into her sweat-slicked, heaving body. Already, the fire rippling through her was beginning to ravage her thoughts, her heart, her soul. Deep inside, she shook - with fear, with need, with anticipation.

From opposite the wooden stage, out of the pitch blackness of off-stage came a phantom, a pale demon out of the midnight depths, a hunter of innocence and death. Even though it was a sort of half-spin that threw him toward her, the fiery-haired dancer knew that he was stalking her. He was the predator, she the all too willing prey. She couldn't stop herself from yearning towards him even as he drew ever closer.

Electricity arced between them. Absinthe filled her gaze like poison and overflowed in her body. She watched the painted clown prince of crime come close, closer, closest. Her heart shrieked like the dying. Her bones became a prison, and all she could do was follow where they led in a dance that would probably be the death of her identity.

Sadie bit out each syllable like it was meat, bloody and red and wet, spitting each "la" out into the pitch darkness of the crowded theatre. Rose's psyche snatched up every gobbet of bleeding meat and turned it into a dance of hell and obsession, pouring everything in her heart into each and every movement: pain, pleasure, fury, hatred, hope, need, fear. It pounded in the tango rhythm, sizzled in every note, hummed behind every line of music. The green-eyed singer spun right into the Joker's arms, feeling them close around her like the steel jaws of a lethal trap that only blood could free her from.

Caught.

She knew it, and she reveled in it. Pleasure spiked in her blood and pounded through every chamber of her heart. On the final "la" he lifted her high. Would he hurl her to the ground like a doll, shattering her porcelain bones? Would he snap her spine across his knee? Would he kill her? It was a possibility. Part of her wanted him to. The burning hot hands, bare of gloves now, that cinched her waist and hoisted her into the air scalded her skin. His palms were burning into her flesh, melting into her bones. The dancer knew her ribs would bear his mark for eternity. Bruises bloomed like violets and deadly nightshade under her skin. In this moment, she was under his power.

Her taffeta and silk clad form slid down the harsh planes and angles of his until she was only a foot off of the ground, her eyes trapped in his viridian hell gaze. Inferno bloomed behind his eyes and she shuddered. Lips like arsenic pressed against hers, and she moaned against the kiss as his mind swamped hers, dragged her down, pulled her in. There was no fighting him. She knew it. The certainty of it flooded her with awareness - of the heat of him pulsing under her, of the bite of his fingers in her body, and of his mouth against hers in their savage kiss, never a moment of it gentle.

Vulnerable.

Rose Damundo knew that, knew that in this moment she was at her most vulnerable to the madman holding her in his grasp, searing her mouth with madness and fury. And as she looked into eyes like viridian hell, that scalded her mind, scorched her psyche, as he pulled back and the Chelsea grinned stretched wide like a monster's gaping maw, anxious to devour her, she knew she didn't care about it. It was what she had always wanted, what she had always needed.

It was perfect.

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He could see into her soul. It was so easy to rip away her shields, her flesh, her bones, to see the darkness coiled like a viper beneath her sheer veneer of civility. It wasn't just easy - it was child's play, a game he could sink his teeth into, a game that made him smile.

In front of him, the petite pixie with the eyes like acid began to sing the real words to the song, not the syllabic intro but the true meaning of _You Tore My Heart_, and the master of mountebanks chuckled inwardly at the look of expectation that flitted across Rose's dreamy face. What a monster, what a madwoman. It made the grin on his scarred face stretch wide. After this was over, he had so many plans. She'd love 'em. They all would.

Then the words came, and he focused on the sinfully seductive hell they were raising.

"_If I_," Sadie sang, practically spitting out the heated, accusing words.

The grief and hate in her voice spit him like a suckling pig, and the fire began to burn in his belly. It filled him with the need for a fix - dynamite, death, destruction. Pure anarchy. It gnawed at him until his eyes found Rose's face and he spun her out like a ballroom dancer. On the point of her shoe, she spun like a top. He could control her just as easily. But he didn't have to. He could see it in the drop-kick alcohol eyes sunk in the glass of her witch face. There was a mad devotion that he loved. It made her so much fun.

At the word "I" the red haired cabaret chick thumped herself in the chest and sank to one knee, her emerald glass eyes riveted on his face. The rage and need in their depths made the demonic chuckles always hiding in his chest want to come out and play before he sank a blade in her lily-white, silk soft skin.

"_Had my way,_" the sable-haired psycho crooned, running one hand airily up and down her black-clad body.

In the crowd, some dirty old men unzipped their flies. So did some women. But that didn't concern either the ice-hearted killer with the violet eyes, the tenebrous little fairy with a homicidal side, the blue-eyed dancing sociopath, the redheaded vaudeville performer in the arms of a madman, or the scarred and sadistic mad creature himself.

"_You_," Sadie growled accusingly.

The heel of her thigh boot stabbed the stage floor with a brutal thunk and her eyes narrowed to knives of jagged, amber glass that slashed the groaning, masturbating audience. Even those whose hands remained clenched around the arms of their seats found themselves moaning at the sensual violence flooding out of Sadie's gaze. Her face twisted into a seductive grin, the pout of her lips drawing a shudder from the Chechen, who sat in the front row. Cruelty ripped through the crowd from her acid eyes. They longed for it, the brutality of it, the hate in it, and they didn't even understand what drew them to the woman.

Rose flung out her arms towards the painted clown prince and pointed accusingly before lunging to her feet and throwing herself toward him. Hatred twisted her beautiful expression, filled her veins with black ice, her eyes with serpentine poison. The scream trapped in her throat cut her voice to shreds of silk. The Joker wondered if it were true hate or something for the rapt audience and all the folks out there.

Somehow, he sensed it was both.

But she had given in, surrendered. He could see it even in the madness roiling and storming behind her smoldering, jade fire eyes like hell. A monster always, now she belonged to him. She was _his_ monster. The knowledge made him chuckle aloud, and he saw her eyes glaze, saw her body shudder with the need to be near him.

He chuckled again.

"_Would still be_," Sadie crooned, as if pityingly.

Joker wrenched the fallen cabaret girl from her prostrate, pseudo-weeping position on the stage floor and shackled her thin wrists with his iron grip. She struggled to hit him, and he grabbed her slender throat and then spun her around. The audience knew it as part of the routine when the redhead lifted up on her toe and turned the spin into a pirouette. Rough hands lifted the girl up and she froze as if pinned, a broken and oozing butterfly stabbed through the heart with a needle, stuck by rigor mortis as a creature of silk and glass and death.

"_**Stuck**__ on me!_"

It was then he noticed the other two girls.

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Danni hugged herself as she shook. Pain rocketed through her body, turning her bones to molten glass, her blood to ash, her heart to fire. The music thrilled through her, dragging her down into midnight blackness inside her own mind. Fury raged inside her, but it could not get out. The walls of her deadly trap-like psyche were too strong - walls of steel, walls of diamond, walls of bone. They ensnared her and held her prisoner as the song warped it.

This was what almost always happened.

But this time, the brunette knew it was different. Time meant nothing when she was trapped by music in her own mind. And the presence of the Joker only served to snare her further. Blue eyes sprinkled with the white narcotic shimmer of angel dust snatched up every image and imprinted it on the underside of her skull as she watched the Joker dancing with her best friend. Rose's body contorted and writhed as if he were pulling her strings, pushing her buttons. The sociopath knew this was exactly what the creature dancing with the redhead was doing.

Now it was her turn to be pushed, pulled, prodded, pounced upon. The blue-eyed dancer hungered for it with more intensity than she'd ever felt for anything. Was her inner voice right? Was this the way it was meant to happen?

She was so like him. Despite the pain inside her whenever he drew near, the anguish lapping at her like a bloody ocean intent on dragging her down to sunless sea depths and drowning her, leaving her to rot - despite this agony, she felt more alive in the presence of the killer clown than she had ever felt in her life. Something inside her had always been broken, making her different. Making her a freak. Could it be that this psychopath was exactly what she needed to fix herself?

"_But when I rock myself to sleep,_" Sadie sang, and the blue-eyed dancer recognized her cue from the word "but" and flung herself over the edge of her own mental cliff and let her mind hit the abyssal waters anxious to drown what sanity she had. In that moment, she flung her true self forward into the dance, mimicking Crystal on the other side of the main couple.

Like the other woman, Crystal hit her knees with bruising force, and doubled her body over as if in agony. Even as she did, her body rocked forward hard with each sharp note from the brass in the song. Her head banged up and down, her golden sausage curls bouncing. The pain etched across her face was like a beacon - _kill me, I need you_.

Obsession, hurt, longing, need.

And on the word "sleep," both Danni and Crystal hurled themselves to the floor, prostrate. Something midnight black and velvet slithered serpentine under her skin, but it didn't belong to her. Still she allowed it. Immediately, it filled every part of her body. It moved under skin like an earthquake, hot and molten, black as the plague, red as blood. Burning, searing, boiling, with her marrow to ash and her heart to ice, she rolled back and forth on the floor, longing mixing with rage. Desperation tinged every move of the routine with a sheen of obsidian frost, and the fire under her skin burned hot as hell.

So much emotion, so much need, so much fire. It drove her mad.

Insanity beckoned to her, the carnal call of it so inviting, so heavenly, and the pseudo-convulsing cabaret dancer didn't know if she was strong enough to resist true madness, or even if she truly wanted to. Haunted violet eyes turned to Danni, whose entire body shuddered with the throbbing, pulsing need in her body. The words came back to her, the same words she'd thought less than a minute before. They flooded her, drowning her silent screams of denial as she danced and sang.

_Kill me, I need you._

.

"_I dream of you again._"

Like a falling star, like a sunset, like death, the red haired cabaret girl slipped from the burning hot grasp of the ace of knaves and sank in slow motion to the ground. Her gloved hands slid from the blond hair, down the thin skin over the pulsing temples, over the scarred cheeks heavy with stage makeup. Her fingertips skimmed his carotid artery and jugular vein and she dropped away. Her body alighted on the stage and she, too, began to convulse with the other two dancers, writhing as if tortured by nightmares of ravishing imps, grasping hands and ravenous mouths and throbbing instruments of rape, violating demons intent on ripping away sanity.

Her diamond heart glittered against her throat like a tear.

While the moans of the brunette, the blonde, and the redhead were silent, mouthed only, the image filled every woman in the audience with a sharp need, and every man with a vicious hunger.

And then Sadie began to sing the word "la."

Suddenly Crystal was in the Joker's grasp again. Her blond hair hung around her shoulders and she wore something different. No top hat, no leggings, no tap shoes. A reddish violet ribbon roped the slender, white throat, and a glittering square-cut diamond hung diagonally against the pale skin. The tattered, shredded red mini dress that hugged her every razor sharp curve, with a floofy layered skirt of ripped lace and a ribbed, satin bodice had forbidden overtones of a little girl's party dress. Her T-strapped Mary-Jane character shoes were red as ruby slippers. But the hellion eyes stayed riveted on the picture of the pale, seemingly innocent face, the elegant neck and partially bare shoulders, and the soft swell of the dancer's slick, oiled breasts.

"_La, la-ah, la-ah, la-la la-la-lala-la-la._"

The syllables, so seemingly innocent, a child's song when the words remain meaningless to an adolescent mind, were rife with seduction, with rage, with black hate for all things that separated the tiny singer from the object of her obsession. Sadie was a nightmare, a demon out of the carnal fantasies hidden within the layers of the civilization of men. Seductive, desirable, an object of forbidden lusts and secret masturbatory imaginings, the siren calling them all filled every "la" from her bloody lips with the promise of sex and death.

Meanwhile, the Joker was no longer stalking a woman whose eyes gleamed like absinthe, whose tears would glimmer as crimson as blood if she allowed them to fall. No, not now. Now, the painted madman growled and grinned and stalked a blond huntress whose madness was a match for his.

On tip-toe, Crystal backed away as if from a wild animal. The feral hate in her eyes glinted like swords, but beneath it smoldered a need she hated to admit to. It burned her soul. It seared her lungs with every breath that tasted of the madman's vicious, violent scent. Everything in her tried to scream as that sweet, heady scent filled her nostrils, stabbed into her brain. It was too much, she had to run... but where? Her brain shrieked but all she could think about was the feel of a burning hot grip hauling her to her feet, refusing to be gentle, refusing to pretend that she would break from the roughness of his touch. Liquid heat turned her icy blood to molten fire.

The Joker followed her. For every back-up she made, he strode forward, his hips rolling, bucking, as if imagining penetrating her sweat-slicked, fear-cold body. Rape or love making? Death or heaven? Looking into his eyes, the blonde didn't know. The rabid intensity of those eyes filled her body with a heavy heat that scorched her mind.

Watching with hawk eyes, the painted man approached; a hunter after the object he hunted. Goosebumps ripped through the dancer's flesh at the anarchist's approach. Inside, the Good Child trembled and sighed, an ardent and amorous child with an inexplicable and innocent crush on the never-innocent devil. And still, wrapping the blond woman and the clown in her black velvet cocoon of desire, obsession, and heartbreak was Sadie, who continued to sing.

_"La-la, la-la la."_

Then the music changed, and though notes played, a song was not what came out of the pouting sanguine lips, but words, accusations that cut to the bone, flung with deadly accuracy at the hypocritical masses of amorous monsters waiting for her to keep singing and longing for more than they had a right to desire.

"_You_," Sadie bit out.

Crystal leapt back from the madman, her hands flung out as if to ward him away. The panic on her face was not an act. He could see it. His eyes burned to her bones, and he knew. Oh, but he knew exactly what she was feeling at that moment. She was finally beginning to understand just how powerless she was against him.

"_Know_," the black haired dancer spat, her eyes like rape in the eyes of every man in the audience. Her power, flowing out of her body like heat, like electricity - like the fires of hell, and all the nightmares it births with the unholy abortion of angels, with the transformations of dreams into terror - it ripped through the crowd and they felt every word, every nuance of every syllable of every thought that she poured into this song: the rage, the hate, the desire, the need, the fear, and even the burning, agonizing love that flooded her body as she sang not to them, but to the dancer who held her older sister in his murderous hands.

"_You tore my heart_," Sadie crooned, and knew, without looking at them, the motions behind her.

Her sister allowed those wicked sweet arms to wrap around her waist and pull her against that molten hot chest for just a moment. The blond dancer shuddered as her breasts crushed against the midnight violet tuxedo vest. Inside her dress she felt her entire body tighten. Fear and something sepulchral and dark lanced through her. Her hands, spread wide and tense, caressed the scarred cheeks, the thick neck, and even the wide, powerful shoulders. She could taste the chocolate and alcohol of his breath, the gunpowder and gasoline scent mingling with Old Spice cologne and aftershave on his body. Her skin ached.

Then, as if suddenly aware of her sins, of her transgressions, she threw herself away from the Joker. Hitting the floor feet away, she began to slowly crawl away from him. But she knew better. Crystal felt tears burn her eyes as she realized it. It was only a dance, but not just that. The black glass mirror of her madness showed her the truth. Even as she tried to crawl away, the magnetism of the monster called her back.

She turned to glance behind her and saw the Joker coming. She couldn't look away. The breath dragged in her lungs, the tears scalded her eyes, and those hellion eyes saw her as her breasts heaved and the sweat dampened her skin. Heat rushed into her face. He saw the blood painting her cheeks. It made his grin widen. The black lines of his eyes, made up to look demonic by none other than Rose, sucked her sight in, and he met her beseeching gaze with his possessive demon eyes. She licked her lips, and only she heard him groan.

Unable to stand it, the need pulsing against her wrists, throbbing at her throat and between her thighs, Crystal thrust her hand toward him, desperation rippling across her face. The spotlight flashed on the ice of her makeup, on the need in her eyes. She damned herself and strained to touch the Joker.

"_Did_," the youngest Damundo moaned into the microphone, her vinyl-clad body thrusting against the icy shaft of the mike stand, "_just what I always thought._"

And the painted clown prince of crime, the master of mountebanks, the madman in makeup, grabbed Crystal's outstretched, beseeching hand and hauled her against him, against the aggressive planes and knife sharp angles of his body. Her ice melted away. She tried to call it back, but it fled under the infernal abyss behind the emerald black eyes stabbing into her, thrusting cruelly, penetrating her - mind and soul.

His lips touched hers. She screamed silently against those lips and tried to melt into him as his hands hurt her, as his mouth raped hers and kissed the brutality away. Her power overflowed, projecting the heat and desire slamming into her, pounding in her breasts, her belly, between her thighs, heating her skin and burning in her blood.

And in the audience, the men groaned and women sobbed with need.

Danni's turn was next, but the brunette show girl was too late to save Crystal from the Joker... and from herself.

.

Danni lunged to her feet, an explosion of ice blue and midnight sapphire, another little girl swayed to the darkness by the sinful invitation of the abyssal creature standing before her. Crystal shrank back from the painted monster that had so recently clasped her in his brutal grip and her best friend stepped forward, a willing sacrifice to the Devil. Both the not-so-innocent angel and the hungry, predacious demon danced in time to the siren call of the pixie at the microphone.

"_La, la-ah, la-ah, la-la la-la-lala-la-la._"

Bouncing, rolling her hips in time with the music, Danni approached the monster. Not so innocent, not so breakable, not so sane, she had nothing to lose. It had all already been stripped away, leaving her naked and vulnerable to the beast her heart yearned towards. Now she matched the stalking stride of the clown as he came near.

She _matched_ him.

The Joker saw her, saw how she measured her stride, kept her legs tight and hard to support the tip-toeing creepage of the way they both inched toward each other, hips rolling and bucking. Sensual heat - white hot lightning flashing with rage and pain - flared between them. And when she looked into his eyes, she lost all sense of the world.

Under her tongue, Danni felt her heart thud and pump, blood flow, need charge forward and slash her ribs, her heart, her belly. It clawed her like a savage beast. Like his eyes. She didn't know if she'd be able to keep her composure but somehow it didn't matter. The performer found herself face to face with her insanity and stared into the blazing eyes like dementia. He grinned, and she did too, both twisted mockeries of smiles. The need in her eyes was clear and she knew it. Her acceptance was palpable. Because this was the last series of "la-la-la," they were going to do something different. They'd rehearsed it that way, but the brunette had to wonder if this was going to feel the way his eyes promised it would.

_"La-la, la-la la."_

He hoisted her up and her legs went around his trim waist. Immediately, Danni understood what had happened to both Sadie and Crystal in the opening dance as the hard zipper pressed against the crotch of her damp, midnight silk panties. His hip bones bit into her thighs, kissing her with bruises against the silky skin. His hands dug into her waist, leaving fingerprints on the glass of her bones. Another set of black blood kisses under her fragile flesh.

Danni cradled his head in both hands, her mouth inches from his. She buried her fingers in the thick hair the color of old gold. His eyes held her prisoner. If she were going to steal a kiss, now would be the time. Each dancer got to snatch a kiss from that ruined mouth before the end of her turn. It would be brutal and she yearned for it with an intensity that nearly scalded her internal organs.

Like a flash, on the last "la" she kissed him.

Pain exploded in her skull as his fist tightened in her hair, hauling on the thick, chestnut curls with a fury that left her wondering if he were trying to hurt her for his own pleasure or to punish her. But then his teeth were gnawing at her mouth, his tongue lapping up the blood of her lips, and she knew that if she didn't pull away now that he would have her beneath him, using her body, giving her pain enough to satisfy them both, in front of everyone in the crowd. Part of her wanted that, wanted him to match her, blow for blow and mind for mind, madness against madness, in front of this simple and simpering crowd of imbeciles who longed for anarchy but ran when it found them. What would they say if the clown prince of crime fucked her here, on this stage, driving into her until she screamed in pain and need? Would they begin to fornicate amongst themselves, driven to primal savagery by the frantic need pulsing from the dancers on the high stage? Or would they turn away in disgust?

The answer allowed her to pull back before the Ace of Knaves ruined her makeup with his fury and lust. Then they flung themselves apart as if nothing had ever happened. But inside, Danni knew it would never be the same after this. Two gargantuan steps had been traversed this night, and she was forever altered.

"_Somewhere, you're fast asleep,_" Sadie sang as the Joker moved in on her best friend.

Danni matched him, stride for stride, but differently this time. Instead of rushing toward him, she submitted, backing away as he stalked her, as he pushed at her mind, as he kept himself nose to nose with the stocky, curvaceous brunette. The calm in those angel dust eyes made a thrill of irritation race across his skin, through his chest. Did she think that just because she was his meant there was no danger from him? He growled at her, and something hot flashed behind her eyes.

Fear? Lust? A heady combination of both with a shot of narcotic and obsessive emotion, he thought.

"_I hope you're terrified. One long nightmare,_" the words slithered and caressed up his spine, against his throat, down his chest and belly, along his crotch. That girl had one helluva voice. He had an idea that there was more to what was happening than merely violent and violating vocals and maddening movements alluding to hell and sex. Rose and Crystal had already shown him there was more in their heads than freaky brains. Did Danni and Sadie have the same?

On the very last syllable of the word "nightmare," his open palm caught Danni's rouge-reddened cheek in a sharp slap that snapped her head around and left her face stinging. Heat flooded her skin.

"_'Cause_," Sadie sang.

The brunette performer scurried away from the painted man, taking small, tip-toe steps away from the man who had left her cheek burning from the impact of his palm. Shaking with pretend fear - with real need for another brutal kiss that rocked her with its sheer, hellish intensity - Danni hunched in on herself, her body a quivering ball of battered flesh and bruises, makeup and ragged lace, and she pointed one trembling hand at the Joker, accusing, reviling, implicating.

"You've," the word sounded like a demand, a sharp slap, a stab of hatred dipped in scorn, "torn my heart."

As Sadie sang, the Joker strode purposefully toward the brunette woman who huddled in mock fear of him. His scarred face was a harsh mask of sensual cruelty. His back was ramrod straight, his mouth a frightening scowl that made the dancing girl cringe away from him. On "heart," Danni glanced up at him as his hand reached out to her. And then she was back in his arms, being swung around in a savage waltz that filled her with black elation. He swung her, never really lifting her from the ground. His hands dug into her arms, biting deep into soft flesh.

And then he let her go, and she slid across the stage to where she had lain before, and she fell there, lost to the world.

.

The Joker did his own pirouette back into the center of the four women - Sadie in front, lavishing her seductive voice on the microphone; Crystal on stage left, lying on her back with her hands running over her body as she arched her spine; back on stage right, Danni curled in a loose fetal position, the memory of that savage kiss lingering on her lips; and behind the clown, his thorny briar Rose with her madness, her Dark Passenger moving behind her eyes, lay on her belly as if dead or asleep, dreaming of horrors.

Then Rose reached up the back of his slacks, her hands sliding up his lean calves, the backs of his knees, to his thick, muscular thighs. She lightly pressed her powdered face to the side of his leg and clutched at his hips, her hands shaking with the pressure against his skin. Her breasts touched his legs. He turned, darted down and snatched her up. Turning to show their profiles to the audience as the intense ray of the spotlight shut off and the crimson stage lights lightened with some amber, as the backup dancers fell to the floor in a heap resembling a loose orgy of sweaty, oil-slicked bodies, he yanked Rose's frame against his hard body.

"_I still feel your skin,_" Sadie crooned.

Her voice spilled over like liquid sex as the madman ran his hands from Rose's flushed cheeks, down the column of her throat, over the smooth breasts cupped in the bodice of her dress. The pressure of his palms against the silk and lace covering her nipples almost made her scream. Her gasp of surprise - of wicked and sinful pleasure - made the Joker grin. His hands slid down over her belly. One arm went around her back as she sank onto his forearm. The other hand slid down further, over one mostly exposed thigh in the black stocking. He fingered the black lace top of her tights.

"_Soft as velvet,_" the words breathed against Rose's ears, and the part of the routine she knew would undo her completely came as the clown slid his hand up her thigh, slipping beneath the lacy skirt of her tattered dress. His hand burned, the devil's touch against her skin. Scorching. She shuddered as the fingers moved higher, higher, until his fingertips touched the silky flesh of her inner thigh. Nerves winding tight, fire flaring under her skin, Rose felt two of those fingers lift up and skim between her thighs.

Her breathing hitched.

They locked eyes, and his fingers pressed against the crotch of her silky black panties. Orgasm ripped through her like a pounding wave, a tsunami of pleasure that left her delirious and shaking. Still, somehow, she managed to throw one leg over his bony hip and wrap her arms around his neck, one hand pressing against the scarred cheek as her little sister sang, "_Thick as sin._"

"Whisper tender shit over deep," Sadie half-sang, half growled to the enraptured audience.

The Joker touched Rose's ear with his lips as the two of them sank down to the ground. They moved, those burning cold lips, against the delicate shell of the green-eyed vaudeville girl's ear, and the redhead shivered at the words of fury, of anarchy, of chaos and lust and death that caressed her, that insinuated into her brain and wrapped around her thoughts, drawing her closer to his madness. The Passenger purred in the recesses of her subconscious, trying to push forward. She let it. It didn't matter anymore if the Dark Passenger surged forward. This was a consummation, a joining, that they both should enjoy.

Shivering and slithering like a snake, the scarred man with the Glasgow grin crouched over Rose's prostrate, convulsing form as her hands snaked up to cradle his face. With one last snarling glare into the crowd, he leaned in and kissed her as he covered her like a murderous spider intent on the kill.

Behind them, the back up dancers continued to convulse and roll as Sadie sang, "_You drive me good, no good for me."_

He rose up, some primordial demon king out of the depths of sepulchral darkness, his face alight with desire, with intensity, and he came forward as Sadie began to sing again. This time, he danced with no one, that madman intent on mayhem. Instead, he stalked the singer, his hellion gaze locked on the sable-haired pixie with eyes like toxicity.

_"La, la-ah, la-ah, la-la la-la-lala-la-la,"_ the words echoed on the stage, full of longing, full of promise. Sadie knew he came for her now. It was what she - what they all - wanted. The Whisperers hissed and muttered in her mind.

_" La-la, la-la la." _

A shiver ran up Sadie's spine as a blazing hot shadow rose up behind her, eldritch madness emanating from it like heat from the sun. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Would he kiss her as he had the others? She knew that his mouth had ripped theirs apart during the dance. What would he do to her? The music would continue even after she stopped singing for maybe twenty seconds, maybe thirty. She had time. What would happen then?

_"Somewhere you're fast asleep. I hope you're terrified," _she snarled into the black ball of the microphone, pointing into the audience. The Chechen glared up at her, and the hate in her body forced her acid eyes to glare right back while her brain conjured up murderous fantasies involving his mutilated corpse.

_"One long nightmare,_" she added as arms came around on either side of her, familiar arms rippling with muscle like iron._ "'Cause you've,"_ she groaned, leaning back against the flat planes of the silk-clad chest, feeling the hammer of his heartbeat against her shoulder blade. His palms flattened against her belly. Sadie growled out the words,_ "Torn my __**heart**__._"

And then she whirled around, he hoisted her up so she straddled his narrow hips with her slender, short legs, and her mouth fell upon his like a black widow intent on the kill as the music slid around them both. As his fingers pinched and squeezed, as his hands hurt her and his mouth moved her into planes of existence, onto plateaus of desire she had never managed to traverse, as his body burned against her skin and sweat dampened her heated flesh, they sank into the darkness that began taking the stage until not one of the theatrical orgy remained in the sight of the audience.

The curtain fell.

.

.

.

_**Author's Note:** this info below is for both the chapters posted today. I hope you enjoyed them. Anyway, so here's all the copyright information and such. Part 5 will be coming in about a week, maybe 2, because it's going to have a lot of stuff in it and it needs careful going over multiple times. Reviews are great! And for all my faithful readers, please check out other fanfics in other fandoms of mine. I have nothing so psychologically thrilling (this is my best work) but that doesn't mean I don't have anything you'll like. Loves to you all!_

**Music Information:**

I don't know who wrote _Jingle Bell Rock_. You all know the song, though, or at least know _**of**_ it, and you know it wasn't me who invented it.

_Where the Wild Roses Grow_ - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds feat. Kylie Minogue

_You Tore My Heart_ - Oona and Dave Tweedle (see Elena and Jacob from season 6 of _So You Think You Can Dance_ on _YouTube; _it's an abridged version, but the routine is _**HOT**_)

**Sources of Names for Under-Dancers:**

Liaze & Celeste Woodman - they're inspired by Princesses Liaze & Celeste of the books by Dennis L. McKiernan, _Once Upon an Autumn Eve_ & _Once Upon a Spring Morn_

Alys Nein - an unauthorized cameo of the wonderful fanfic writer, Alys98, author of the _Torn Trilogy: Torn, Torn Together_, and _You Are Your Father's Daughter_

Brianna Bellemont - this is someone I know who was in the show choir at my high school the year before I graduated

Kylie Cave - this girl was inspired by Kylie Minogue, who worked with Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds to record the song _Where the Wild Roses Grow_

Katherine Vale - Kat Valentine gave me the idea for this character. She is one of the top Dark Knight fanfic authors on FF . net in my opinion. Go check her out.

Diane McMann - this is homage to one of my best friends. Shhh, don't tell her.


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